The Road Ahead
by NurseLintu
Summary: You've heard a lot about the Peaky Blinders. Enough to know that when they burst in to your pub, the last thing you should be doing is pointing a gun right back at them, yet somehow, that's exactly what you find yourself doing.
1. Chapter 1

_Based at some point. No idea when. Just enjoy. Mature themes will be explored throughout this story. Please heed my warning._

Tommy Shelby. Head of The Shelby Family. King fucking lunatic gangster, blow your head off over a shilling owed to his cousin, type. Arthur, his slightly more weedy, but equally as ruthless brother, rarely far from his side. John is the other name you've heard. John 'Fuckin' Shelby. Perhaps it's a double barreled surname. Whatever, they're not a family you want to get on the wrong side of. Roddy Dugan from down the road thought it might be a good idea to try and pocket some of the winnings from the most recent race the Shelby's had fixed. None have seen him since. Stories spread like wildfire, and when it comes to the Shelby's, you've learned not to take what you hear with a pinch of salt. If Samuel Blacksmith says that Arthur rammed the coins down Roddy's throat, then cut them free before Roddy choked to death on them, that's probably exactly what happened. And when Jim Timber whispered to you about Tommy shooting an old 'friend' at point blank range in the face for speaking ill of the Shelby family, you daren't quirk a smile. The limited knowledge you have of the Shelby family is enough to make you know that when they burst into the bar you are tending in the wee hours of the night, when the last pissed up stragglers are the fat and forties crew, doing their best to stay away from their wives and children, and Arthur Shelby lets off a round on a shotgun, and yells for you to get on the fuckin' floor, "By order of The Peaky Fuckin' Blinders!" That grabbing your own gun and pointing it back at The Terrible Three, is the exact opposite to what you should do. Yet here you are; heart hammering in your chest, you are certain loud enough that every man in the room can hear it, and you have John, Arthur, and Tommy fuckin' Shelby all staring straight back at you, unmoving. _Shit. Fuck._ The following seconds pass like hours, as the four of you, three against one, stand frozen in time, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Luckily for you, you're frozen in abject terror, because one false move is absolutely going to get a round from Arthur's shotgun embedded in you.

"Put the gun down," Tommy's tone doesn't change or falter, and his blue eyes shine fiercely at you. John draws out and cocks another firearm, but makes no further moves as Tommy raises a hand. "No one wants to get hurt here, now, do they?"

If they can't see your arms beginning to tremble by now, you'll be a monkey's uncle. You set your jaw, and part your lips to draw in a breath, and the three sets of Shelby eyes dart to your lips, and you just know their fingers are tightening on those triggers. It's more than a little unsettling.

"Come on, little girl." Arthur's voice is more gruff than Tommy's, likely the effect of too many nips of hard whiskey. John doesn't speak, doesn't move, but his eyes trail slowly over what he can see of your body, waiting for any sign of movement.

More seconds pass, and you lock eyes with King Tommy, sapphire blue meeting with ice blue. You notice something in him change; only slight, scarcely noticeable to the eye. He knows he's won.

"Put the fuckin' gun down before I fuckin' make ya," There is little room for humor in Arthur's tone, and he raises his shotgun again, looking down the barrel to line up.

"It's okay, Arthur," It's a moment before Tommy's eyes move from you, and you're aware that somehow, he knows exactly what you're doing, even though he's now looking at his brother. "She's not going to do anything." He turns back to you, a slight raising of his eyebrows being the closest to another order he's going to give you. He waits. Another moment passes, and you blink, your shoulders sagging. It's either that, or lights out, for good. Tommy's eyes don't move from yours, whilst you lower your gun to the bar, and raise your hands in a show of defeat.

The pitbulls stand either side of Tommy, awaiting their next instruction, and it comes in the form of a nod, from Tommy to John, and John obliges by moving to take your gun and slip it in to the waistband of his trousers, not before making sure the safety is on. Arthur seems reluctant to move the aim of his gun from you, but a blink from Tommy is all he needs. He glares hard across the room at you, unwavering as Tommy launches in to a speech about the pub landlord and a select few of its punters, helping themselves to a shipment of spirits that had been temporarily mislaid, due for The Garrison. Some poor delivery driver had gotten himself a bullet in the head for being so stupid as to take the wrong turn and get lost in the first place. John's eyes look you up and down, and you fancy he's wondering how nice your blood might have looked painted across the wall. Arthur still hasn't moved from you.

"Who the fuck do you lot think you are?" Cyril Murphy, the resident moron pipes up. He might just have been stupid enough not to know the answer to his own question, but a round from Arthur's gun creating a new hole through his head leaves him with no further need to know at any rate. "Any more questions?" You're glad Arthur's attention is finally off you. Your breaths are shaky, and absurdly, all you can think of is that potent whiskey on the top shelf. The butt of Arthur's gun collides with the cheek of an attempted escapee, leaving the latter sprawled on the floor, likely unconscious. In a moment, Arthur strides up to the bar, gun pointed at you, eyes on the rows of bottles on the shelves behind you. "Pour me the best you've got." His eyes sweep around the bar again, this time not looking at the refreshments.

"The other one is under the bar," Your voice isn't much more than a whisper.

"What?"

You flinch at his gruff tone, and raise your left hand, eyes darting to Tommy, who is observing from across the room. "The other gun." The three brothers all react subtly to the word, and Arthur raises a hand to strike you.

Tommy has crossed the room without your noticing, and has Arthur's wrist. He shares a knowing look with his brother, then those brilliant blues meet with your own. "Put it on the bar." You oblige wordlessly. "Are there any more?" You shake your head. Tommy keeps your gaze awhile longer, then lets go of his brother's hand. He taps three times on the bar, and you bring down the best you have. Three tumblers, three half glasses. Arthur's is gone in one, John takes his in three, Tommy leaves less than a quarter, and sets it down on the bar. His eyes haven't left yours. John brings a small tin from his coat, and begins squeezing the liquid from inside, spreading it as far as he can. The smell of petroleum fills the air, and the punters begin to panic, each making a break for freedom, each thrown back by one of the brothers. You neck back a burning gulp from the bottle of whiskey you've not yet set down, then finger the rim of the glass Tommy has left. You look up at him through the rapidly spreading flames, and feel a smile crack as you down the rest of his drink.


	2. Chapter 2

It's nothing short of a miracle that you open your eyes again. The moment of awe passes quickly, as a thumping, searing pain engulfs your entire head. You hear an unintelligible mumble coming from your lips, but you've no idea what it is you're trying to say. "Fuck," Happens quite willingly, however. That and deep, rasping coughs.

"She's awake." The clipped, growly tone of Arthur Shelby takes you by surprise.

The air moves around you, but it takes you awhile to realize your eyes are still closed. "Fuck," Happens again.

"Pretty mouth on her," The voice is female, the accent strong and twangy, but you don't recognize it. Could it be the Aunt you've heard rumblings about? She has a son somewhere in the ranks, doesn't she? Michael. You think you've had dealings with him in the past. Buying things you shouldn't be on the street. "She'll fit right in." There's an awful scraping sound, chair feet dragging across a wooden floor, and you wince in pain, your hands coming to cover your ears. "That is, if you're planning to keep her."

"Family only," Another unfamiliar voice. "Right, Tommy?"

Tommy doesn't reply.

Something damp presses against your head, and you instinctively flinch away from it.

"Hey, hey. It's all right." Tommy's soft voice is easier listening than the other voices in the room. "You hit your head. In the fire."

"That you set, ya' fucker." The words fall out of your mouth before you manage to restrain them. There are scattered chuckles in response.

"Actually, I dropped the match." John, "And the fuel."

You groan, but no more words come to you. Your eyes don't want to focus, not today. Whatever day that is. Not that it matters. If you're in The Shelby House, your days are likely numbered anyway. And the likelihood is that number probably doesn't stretch in to double digits. Sleep has you again, although you've no measure of how long for. At least when you wake up this time, the pain has eased some. Your throat is burning and dry, your chest heaving painfully with each breath. At least your eyes are working now. They take in a stark room; you're laying on a thick duvet, a pillow where your head had been, and an old, ragged blanket on top of you. Swinging yourself to a sitting position proves to be more difficult than you feel it should have been, but the very fact you are still breathing is reason enough for you to not complain. Although perhaps your fate will change your mind about that little conclusion. Before any ghastly ideas manage to materialize in your mind, the door swings gently open, and a tall, capped figure walks in. Peaky Blinders. You feel a grimace pull at your lips as you wonder what delights must await in the peak of that cap. Those eyes meet yours, wide, surprised, and his hand extends, holding what looks to be a glass of water.

"Arsenic?"

"Just water." He crouches beside you, offering out the glass to you. Those eyes.

You hold his gaze for far too long, before tentatively taking the glass. "I guess I'm gonna die anyway, so I may as well get it over with."

Tommy doesn't reply. His eyes stay on your face as you gulp down the water in one, wincing as it burns its way down. He's probably not going to take his eyes off you until you've coughed up your last drop of blood. Minutes pass, and you live to tell the tale. Tommy stays, crouched, then eventually rocks back on his heels, and places his rear on the floor, knees up. "You're like your father, you know."

Your eyes snap to him, but you calculate your response. "A man I barely remember. Can't say I know him."

Tommy's eyes twinkle, and the smile touches his lips, but it's gone as quickly as it appeared. "He made me promise I would look out for you, y'know." You choose not to answer. "When we were in the trenches. I've kept my promise."

"I don't see why he gave a shit." Your tone is a little more abrupt than you mean it to be. Tommy's eyes search your face, as if your thoughts are printed on it. "He walked out on us, left us to fend for ourselves after mother died." Do you imagine the snap of sadness in his eyes at your words. A silence stretches out between the two of you, and neither of you move. "'Sides, if you're going to do away with me, sooner rather than later, please."

Tommy's eyes drop to the floor. "We looked out for you and your brother."

"Fine job you did, too." There goes that brash tone. Perhaps pissing off the leader of the most notorious Birmingham street gang isn't something you should be doing, but you just can't seem to shut up the petulant child bursting from you.

"We aren't doctors, Eva," You begin to think this man is incapable of raising his voice. It's pointless being surprised that he knows your name. "Evan had influenza." As if you'd forget. Your big brother used to protect you from the big bads, but when he was struck down three summers before with influenza, he quickly succumbed to the virus, leaving you the only remaining member of your family. You roll the bottom of the glass on the palm of your hand, and Tommy watches. "Would you like more water?" His eyes are on yours when you look up. "Or tea." He registers your reaction to the newest offer, and is on his feet, offering you a hand to stand up before you can answer. His other hand holds you steady when you topple on standing, dizziness overcoming you. "I'll have my Aunt Pol brew a pot of tea right away." He returns your smile for a brief moment, then offers you an arm to hold as you stretch out your aching limbs and stagger towards the door.

 _A/N Let me know what you think so far... I haven't written in years, so I'm rusty. Any suggestions appreciated_


	3. Chapter 3

Aunt Pol. Polly. Pollyanna? You wonder idly in your head; any loud internal conversation to try and drown out the ringing in your ears. Polly is eyeing you with distaste as she pours the brewed teas in to three cups. Wordlessly, she places your cup and saucer in front of you, and you smile pleasantly and thank her. There is, of course, no response. You look to Tommy, whom is already looking at you, and you shift uncomfortably in your chair, unconsciously raising a hand to feel if you have something unpleasant on your face. Tommy smiles and thanks his Aunt as she sets down his tea. Polly sits at the head of the table, and you can feel her eyes on you. "So," She finally breaks the uneasy silence. "What are your plans with this one, Thomas?"

Tommy looks to Polly, and he sets his tea cup back down. "I'm just keeping an eye on her, like her father asked me to." A moment passes between the two, and the tension is tangible.

You shift in your seat again and clear your throat audibly, before taking a sip of your tea. The warm liquid caresses your ravaged throat, you manage to suppress the urge to vocalize your ecstasy. Another sip of tea. A small sigh of contentment. Both pairs of eyes on you.

"So," Polly's stare is hard and unwavering. "What do you do with yourself these days?"

You place your teacup down gently, already looking forward to the next sip. "I work in a bar," Your eye lock with Tommy's, "Or, at least, I did. Until The Peaky Blinders burned it down because my boss pinched money from their crooked profits." Tommy's eyes avert. He begins fiddling with his tea cup, but stops when Polly snaps him a look. "I like to help out with the race horses."

"Oh," Polly feigns interest, "like how?"

"Shoveling shit, mainly." Polly purses her lips in response. "But I get to exercise them sometimes, too. That's very special." You realize the smile on your face has grown too fond, and quickly correct it. "Cuddling them, too." You're still a little lost. "That's the best."

Polly is clearly unimpressed, and she underlines this by sipping her tea and getting noisily out of her chair. "Well, I'm sure a girl with your," she eyes you up and down, "talents, will find suitable employment soon enough." She finishes her tea, nods at you with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes, and marches out of the room in a flurry of layered skirts and an intricately patterned shawl.

Silence befalls you and Tommy again, as you finish your tea, and he pointedly looks everywhere in the room but at you, as you take the opportunity to study the finer details of his face. His eyes catch with yours once again, if only for a moment, as his brother, Arthur strides in, spouting out a variety of profanities. Arthur looks to you, nods, then looks again as he recognizes you. "Well, by fuck, you're awake."

"Good day to you, too, Arthur." His name feels alien in your mouth. You force a tight smile and he pats the table in front of you.

"You're not so bad after all, girl. I like the spunk you got." He points in your face, and you blink, "A bit less of that pointing a gun in me face, and I might just like ya." You smile and nod, as you were taught and take to enjoying the rest of your tea, as the brothers talk business.

You rather daydreaming than listening in, so you are still away watching the horses graze in the pasture on a summer evening when you almost hit the roof at a warm touch on the back of your hand. Another foul word comes out of your mouth as you return to the real world, and those eyes. "Arthur and I need to go and sort out some business. You'll be okay until I get back?"

You nod, removing your free hand from the teacup you've been grasping for longer than you dare realize, "I should probably be getting back to the… Oh." Tommy swallows, and it's his turn to shift uncomfortably now. "Pile of ashes and cinders."

"I can find you a place. It might not be much… I didn't know you were there, Eva." His eyes are wide, pleading. "I didn't know you were staying there. I thought you were still, you know..." He leaves the sentence unfinished. It's enough to make you move your hand away from his and look away. "I'm sorry." He hesitates as he stands.

"I will be fine until you get back."


	4. Chapter 4

**DV trigger warning - mild

"You can spend the night, if you like." Tommy's voice is like honey, and his breath is warm on the back of your neck. He's standing behind you in the doorway to a large bedroom, with a plush looking, four poster bed. The nets falling from the top are partially obscuring the bed, but you can see enough to know you are in for the most comfortable night of your life to date. "I will have you a place tomorrow. It might not be much, but it will be yours. The family are a little… Protective over their money." He states, by way of apology.

"It hadn't escaped my notice," You affirm. You step forward in to the room, and admire the ornate fixtures and fittings, all of it screaming money.

"Will this do?" He's closed the door behind him, and he is now standing, hat and coat off, with his back to the door, watching you roam around the room studying the fine art and craftsmanship about the place. Those eyes are on you as you turn to him, and there's a look of hope in his eyes. He gestures expansively. "You're welcome to stay longer if you like, of course."

You smile. "I appreciate the offer, but somehow I don't think the rest of the family would be much obliged." He has closed the gap between you, and there are inches between the two of you. "Thank you, all the same."

"Can I get you anything?"

"You know, all the stories one hears about The Peaky Blinders, and not one mentions their tremendous hospitality."

Tommy looks away, flushed, then returns his gaze to you. "I'm just sorry, okay? I want to make it up to you." It takes you both a moment to realize his hand is on your arm, and a moment longer to realize he needs to move it. "I thought you were still living with Daniel." You bristle at the name, and move away. It doesn't go unnoticed. Tommy stoops down to look in to your eyes. "Did something happen?"

"Nothing of note." You've never been a good liar. That doesn't stop you trying; God hates a quitter and all that.

"Eva, did he…" You look away, but he turns your head back, using the crook of his index finger. "Did he do something to you?" Tommy's eyes stay steady on your face, and you don't need to speak for him to have his answer. You see his jaw flex, his eyes fix on a space behind you. The tension lingers as he hands you a silk nightgown and gestures to the en suite bathroom. "I'll see you in the morning. I will be two doors down, on your left, should you need anything."

You take the gown, holding it close to your chest, your eyes trained on his. "Goodnight, Tommy,"

He nods in reply, then leaves the room without another word.

The morning comes sooner than you are ready for, and it's all you have not to hurl your spare pillow at the maid trolleying around your room, opening the drapes and announcing that she is laying you out fresh clothes for the day. "Thank you," Mumbles out of your mouth in place of something more exotic and offensive.

"Mister Shelby has invited you to join him for breakfast in the dining room, Miss. Bennington,"

Sitting up against the lavish fabric of the headboard, you run your fingers through your hair and force a smile. "Thank you,"

"He will be ready in fifteen minutes. Good day, Ma'am," She slips out without another word, leaving you alone with your own thoughts. Thinking better than to let those take hold, you head to the bathroom to freshen up and dress.

Tommy stands when you enter the room, and you're acutely aware of his eyes cruising over you as you approach. "Eva," He holds out a chair for you, "Good morning." You sit, and he passes you a napkin, then sits in his own chair. "I trust you slept well,"

"Like a baby," Silence befalls you as you eat, and it's not until you're both sipping tea that conversation picks up again, thought it is somewhat stilted.

"Thomas," Polly's voice cuts through the room, and Tommy looks to the doorway, startled by the interruption. Polly nods dismissively to you, choosing not to disguise her distaste for your presence. You get no more acknowledgement from her as she continues on to Tommy, summoning him outside the room. Private Shelby talk is no doubt abhorrent and incriminating, so you're glad to be out of earshot. You hear the conversation wrap up, instinctively, you look to the door as Tommy walks in, momentarily looking troubled, before allowing his face to retrain back to his usual stoic expression. He opens his hand towards the door. "Shall we take a walk?"

Ten minutes later, surrounded by the thick aroma of smoke, and the sounds of children playing, Tommy stops in front of an inconspicuous looking terraced house. "It's yours if you want it," Moving to the front door, he withdraws a key from his pocket and lets himself in. "It's sat empty for some time, but it's inhabitable." You follow him in to a small hallway, and look around at the cream walls and the bare floorboards. There's a door to the left, and one straight ahead; the latter leading to a small kitchen. Set off to the right is a set of stairs. He leads you around the house in a comfortable silence, and each room follows the last, in its simpleness. Not a spot of color or a carpet in sight. The only furniture is a couch in the living room and a bed in the only bedroom upstairs. Each pair of curtains is a deep red; they're thick and faded by age and sunlight. There's a layer of dust settled over every surface, and spider webs hanging like decorations from the ceilings. "I can call in someone to clean it up," His eyes eventually meet yours. "Think of it as a peace offering." You're back in the hallway by the front door, leaning against opposite walls, a gentle breeze carrying the stench of the city in to the house. You know his eyes are on you, but you don't return the look.

"What's the catch?" The words are out of your mouth before you have a chance to think of the consequences, and now you do look to Tommy, and you see him tense.

His eyes harden and he steps up close as he speaks, his superior height suddenly seeming daunting, and you close your eyes defensively. You've been here enough times to know better than to retaliate. "Listen," That soft voice is no longer traceable, and he bites out every word, "I fucked up, okay? Now you either take the place, or you can get fucked." His breathing is harsh and rapid, and you are very aware of how close he is. Don't piss of the bad gangster. Tommy doesn't back away. He has a hand planted on the wall by your head. He had flung it out in a rage when he had moved in on you. "I'm sorry." His voice falters. You're grinding your teeth, your own heart hammering so hard in your chest, yet again, you fear he can hear it. "I'm sorry," He repeats himself, his voice softer. You feel a warmth against your cheek, and you've already flinched by the time you realize it's a gentle touch. You open your eyes, and Tommy is looking to the floor. "I'm _sorry_ ," He insists. He takes a step away, letting his hands fall down to his sides. His breathing is still audible, his fingers flex and extend at his sides. "What did he do to you, Eva?"

Blinking slowly, you shake your head.

"Eva?" For a while, you both stand, unmoving, eyes on one another, and it is Tommy who breaks it, tapping out a cigarette and match, and sparking it up. He inhales loudly, then lets out the smoke as he speaks. "You're going to tell me one day," Neither of you speak, as Tommy draws on the cigarette again, then holds it out to you. "For now, we'll go to The Garrison."


	5. Chapter 5

The Garrison is somewhat of a deity in the world of pubs in Birmingham. Having worked behind bars for most of your adult life, you've heard many a tale about the place, but have never had occasion - nor desire - to attend, until now. One would assume that to arrive at the side of the Prince of The Garrison, was probably the safest way. Tommy holds the door open for you, nodding for you to enter, and he follows you, totally unfazed by the sea of faces turning to stare. You feel his hand on your back as he guides you through the main area to a small room out back. You're aware of him raising his hand and clicking a moment before you enter. "Gentlemen," The few patrons sitting about look vaguely familiar, but they scarper before you have a hope to pinpoint anyone in particular. The bartender appears with two tumblers and a bottle of whiskey, sets the items down on the table and leaves the room without a word. Tommy has already pulled out a chair for you, and he tucks it in neatly under you before taking his own seat opposite you. No words are exchanged as he pours out a quarter glass each of the whiskey, and he pushes one towards you. You pick it up, and swirl the liquid around in the glass. Tommy swallows half of his, and watches you with something akin to annoyance. Maybe he wants to snap, but he doesn't. He sparks up another smoke, and allows the silence to stretch out. You take a sip of the whiskey, and let out a hiss as it burns its way through your system. Tommy smirks. He takes another draw on his smoke, and blows the smoke upwards.

"What do you know of my father, then?" You take another mouthful of the whiskey, this time prepared.

Tommy studies you for a while, and watches as you drain your glass. He refills the glass and crushes out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray before he talks. "We were in the trenches together, in France," You don't miss the flash of emotion in his eyes as he speaks, although it is covered as quickly as it appears. He empties his glass, then refills both. "He spoke of you and your brother all the time. Said he fucked around and left your mother, and it was the biggest mistake of his life." You smile, but it isn't sincere. "He was too scared to go back; thought you would all reject him."

"With fair reason,"

"He was going to do it when he got home." The sentence hangs in the air. "Shrapnel from a nearby landmine." Tommy sits forward in his seat, removing yet another cigarette from the packet. His eyes have taken on a distant quality, "How I escaped it was nothing short of a fucking miracle." He downs his glass of whiskey and refills. "His dying words were to me, 'Look after my two, Tommy.'" He taps down the cigarette before lighting it. You don't speak. Tommy inhales sharply, coming back to the real world, poker face returned. "So what of the house?"

You nod. "I'll take it," You take the cigarette from Tommy's fingers, and hold it between your own. "Please,"

Tommy's eyes fix on yours, and for a brief moment, you are transfixed. Then he nods. "Stay again tonight. It will be ready for you tomorrow." He gets out another cigarette and lights it. Another glass of whiskey disappears. You don't keep up with him, but you aren't far behind. It could be one hour or ten that pass. You know you've spoken, but it's unlikely you'll remember what about. At some point, more of the family have filtered in. The room becomes filled with rambunctious, drunken men, and you find yourself propped up in a corner, with Michael a little closer than you realize, slurring nonsense in to your ear. You've long since stopped on the whiskey, albeit too late to honestly say you're not in the slightest inebriated, but the cigarettes appear to be never ending. You can hear Arthur swearing over the general noise, boasting about the latest face he's flattened in the ongoing war between the rival gangs. Tommy is nowhere in sight. You can't remember when or to where he disappeared.

"You can come back to my room if you like," Michael's voice is slurred, and he's leaning in close to you. You struggle to focus, and to remember how many glasses you knocked back before realizing it was more than enough. "There's plenty of room in my bed," His lips touch your ear, "For _you_ ," You feel one hand on your lower back, and another one begins to push up the fabric of your skirt. "We can just go and have some fun, if you'd like." The hand reaches your inner thigh, and you shut down. If anything more happens, you don't process it.

"All right, Mikey boy!" Arthur's hard voice breaks through your wall, and you open your eyes in time to see Michael stumbling to his feet. "I think you've had enough to drink." Arthur discards a half smoked cigarette to the floor and stamps it out, "You ain't as good as us lot yet with your liquor," Finn appears on the other side of Michael, and ducks under his cousin's other arm.

Michael lurches towards you, Arthur and Finn stumbling with him. "Come with me,"

"What the fuck?" Maybe Tommy is capable of shouting. He's certainly capable of throwing a man across the room. In a split second, he's got Michael pinned up against the wall by his throat with one hand, the other balled into a fist, pulled back ready to land a punch. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, Michael?" Raised, but no longer yelling. There is a flurry of activity, the noise level rises in the room as the men launch themselves towards the quarrel, making grabs for each man, pulling them apart, and holding them back.

"Fuck you, Tommy!" Michael tugs forward, to no avail. Arthur steps in the middle barking orders.

"Get that little drunken fucker to his room," Arthur turns to Tommy, when he speaks again, it's little more than a whisper. "What the fuck was that?" Tommy doesn't answer, but he watches as Finn and Curly tow the drunken youngster away. He turns to you, "Are you okay?" You nod, mutely, give him a thumbs up. "How much has she had to drink?" You shrug, although he's not looking your way. There is a general rumble of denial and innocence in the room, and people begin to return to their own business. You don't realize your eyes are closed until you feel insistent tapping on the side of your face. "Eva. Wake up," Tommy's sapphire eyes are already burning in to your own when you open them. "You're a fucking mess. You need your bed." You reach out a hand, but that's as much as your memory allows you.

You have no idea what time it could be when you wake. What you do know, is your head is swimming, and your mouth is bone dry. A groan escapes you without your consent, and you struggle in to an upright position, nursing your head in your hands. You search for something familiar, but the room isn't one you've been in before.

"There's water on the table next to you,"

You swear, unprepared, and your eyes seek out the source of the voice. A silhouette stands leaning against the doorframe to a poorly lit en suite bathroom. The familiar feeling of dread washes over you as snippets of the evening.

"Did he hurt you?" Tommy's voice is still across the room, and it is tight, hard. He waits, then repeats his question.

"No, I don't think so," You've finished one glass of water, and use the pitcher to refill it, and begin to drain that one. You notice you are in just your petticoat, and pull up the covers self consciously. You reach for the cigarette packet and matches on the table next to you, and light up. The foul taste brings you around a little. You look to Tommy; he's standing perfectly still, eyes closed. You rest your head back, closing your own eyes for a moment, gathering yourself ready to stand and stay vertical. You move steadily. When your hand pulls the door, the door stays firm.

"Don't," Tommy is right behind you. You can feel the warmth from his body. His right hand stays against the door. "Please don't go." It's scarcely more than a whisper. You're not even sure you hear it. You shiver from the cold, instinctively wrapping your arms around yourself. You turn to face Tommy. Those eyes. They're looking at you, in to you. He's close. He brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, his fingers brush against your cheek. You feel his hips press you back against the door. He guides your chin up, his body now flush against yours, his right knee bent and touching the door, his left hand holding your hip. His breath is sweet and warm on your lips, and he breezes out a soft sigh as he presses you in to the door. Those lips brush against your own, tentatively, testing. You feel his teeth graze gently on your bottom lip. He is waiting for you. You part your lips, and his are on yours, tongue toying, the grasp on your hip tightening; fingers wound in to your hair, he pulls your head back, taking advantage of the newly exposed flesh of your neck. You hear him swear. His lips press against your breasts, then his touch is gone. You're panting, out of breath, and your head remembers to spin once again as you stumble back to your bed.


	6. Chapter 6

The next couple of days pass in mainly vomit and head pain, and that god awful cough that won't seem to go away. The joys of a hangover and excessive smoke inhalation. You still don't know how long you were in the burning building before King Gangster dragged you out. It's been a while since you saw him. He's been out of town with Arthur on some hoodlum mission or another. You don't know, you don't ask. The only people you've seen are Polly, who has offered you little more than a handful of cut off words, the maid, whom has fed and watered you, and Finn, who has flitted back and forth to check you are still amongst the living. The sun is setting somewhere on the horizon, and you're sitting in what's left of the glow cast from it with your back against the wall. Finally the throbbing in your head has subsided, and the aching in the rest of your body is beginning to dull down. Your throat is burning like nobody's business, and your chest sears with every breath. There is a knock at your bedroom door, and you instinctively look to it. It swings gently open, the capped figure of Thomas Shelby sliding in through the gap, and he once again removes the cap as his eyes lock with yours. "Eva," You blink and look away. "How are you feeling?" He helps you to your feet, and his fingers stray to your neckline for a brief moment. He's standing close.

"Like shit. But less so than yesterday," You move to perch on the side of the bed, and Tommy's eyes follow you. "I can leave whenever you're ready." You smile as you reach for a half smoked cigarette on the bedside cabinet. "I'm sure I have more than outstayed my welcome." Tommy strikes a match and holds it out for you to light your cigarette. You nod in appreciation.

"Your house is ready," Tommy checks his cigarette box, to find it empty, and you hand him yours. He draws on it as he sits next to you. "I'll take you there first thing tomorrow morning."

You glance at him sidelong. "You're the boss." He smiles briefly, then takes a final draw from the cigarette before crushing it out in the ashtray next to you. There is silence between you for a while, the only noise coming from downstairs and the street outside. "I hate to spoil the party, but it's late." Tommy glances up, his eyes seeking out the fading sun rays filtering in through the windows. "Well, I'm tired, at any rate." He smiles, looking down to his hands. You push to your feet and head to the bathroom. He's hovering when you return, and he turns away as you slide under the covers, relishing in the comfort whilst it lasts. As you study the soft features of his face, you find it hard to believe it is the face so many have seen in their last moments. Your mind manages to conjure up imagines of the hard, soulless grimace he would be likely to set, finger on the trigger as his latest victim crouches, arms over their head in a futile gesture, pleading, sobbing, begging for mercy. Somehow you figure he takes no pleasure in doing it. Unlike Arthur, whom upon your few interactions, appears almost gleeful, maybe power hungry as he recounts his tales of bloody murder. You close your eyes and rest back in to the plush pillows, coughing gently. At some point, you drift off to sleep.

It must be early hours when you stir. You're not sure what disturbed you. It takes a while for you to come to your senses, and longer yet to notice the fully clothed figure draped across the bed. You swear under your breath, and settle back into the pillows, turning your back on Tommy. When you wake in the morning, you are alone in the bed. You are in no hurry to get out of bed, instead opting to laze around until you are forced to. That time comes soon enough, and you find yourself sitting in an uncomfortable silence at the table with Tommy, Polly, Arthur and Finn. Michael is hanging awkwardly in the background, skittering around the edge of the room as he goes about his duties, clearly trying to pretend he hasn't noticed your presence. John marches in to the room, firing off about someone owing money; he offers you a glance and a nod, then fixes his eldest brother with a knowing look, pausing to get assent from Tommy. "We won't be long."

You choose not to think about the consequences of that sentence. Solving things Shelby Brother Style more than likely ends in maiming, if not murder, that gets brushed under the rug by the Birmingham police. You are acutely aware of the fact Polly is alternating between glaring at you and at Tommy. The best course of action is to continue drinking your tea and hoping she grows bored of the game. Something tells you as the former head of the Peaky Blinders, giving up isn't something Aunt Pol is accustomed to. "Fucking beautiful weather." Sometimes you wonder what is wrong with you. Finn manages a chuckle, Tommy remains stony faced as ever, but he looks to you, and Polly blinks in disbelief.

"Mum?" Polly turns to the voice of her son, "Could you come here, please?" John is lingering in the kitchen, clearly still in disgrace for his little performance the other night. Tommy's eye blaze furiously as he hears his cousin's voice pipe up but, ever the master of fakery, he does nothing else to let it show. Polly disappears, and the tension eases some.

"Finn, don't you have work to attend to?" It isn't a question, and Finn leaves without a word. "Ten minutes, and we will go."

Twenty minutes later, you are staring in awe at the transformed house. Rich reds, creams and golds set the theme throughout the house, and none of the grime or dust from before can be seen. Tommy stands wordlessly in the living room as you rush around the house trying to take it all in. "It's beautiful, Thomas, thank you." He does little more than nod. "What is it going to cost me?" Now he looks at you. Maybe he wants to snap.

"I must go," He announces, starting for the door. "Business calls," You follow him in to the hallway, moving to open the door for him. "We can work out finances soon." He turns to you.

You chew your bottom lip awkwardly, "Just as soon as I find myself another job," You gesture vaguely towards the door, "Preferably not one on the streets."

Tommy flinches. "I will find you something,"

"I'm not incapable," You bite back, a little more harsh than you mean to. He doesn't look impressed. You raise your hand, and he has it against the wall, you against the wall, one hand squeezing your wrist, the other around your throat. "Your hat," His eyes flick to the fabric in your hand, and his grip loosens. You gasp for air as he steps away, your hand reaching to rub your throat.

"Eva," There's a desperate look in his eyes, "I'm sorry."

"The trenches," You nod, "Daniel used to say the same," You grit your teeth. "Every fucking time," A beat passes, and you're painfully aware of Tommy's eyes on you. Your words hang heavy in the air, but if Tommy wants to reply, he holds it back, leaving with a polite nod, and a face like thunder. Leaving you alone with your thoughts, and the sounds of the city.


	7. Chapter 7

***A/N

Apologies for the delay in updating. My Grannie was taken ill quite suddenly, and sadly passed away with my mother (her daughter) and I by her side. As you can imagine, I have been preoccupied, and it has taken its toll on the creative side of my life.

In happier news, I have also recently become a home owner, so I am doing the place up ready to move my children and I in, through the summer

*****MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING. Reader discretion advised, rape, violence, domestic violence triggers

"Tommy wanted me to show you the way," Finn's demeanor is more gentle, befitting of his soft face and gentle voice. He manages to stand out amongst the others; quiet, unassuming. Almost caring, perhaps. You feel safe around him. You suspect he does what he has to do, to get by, because Tommy says, but he takes no joy in it. He is probably thankful to have a more gentle task today. "He says he's sorry he can't take you himself, but he's away on business,"

"You can turn around," You smile fondly at Finn as he responds, his eyes quickly averting as you catch his gaze. "I appreciate your help." He nods as a response, and extends a hand to you. You make the walk in silence, Finn only piping up to announce your arrival. "Thank you,"

"Thomas will walk you home at the end of your night," He leaves without another word, and you enter the bar to the familiar stench of beer, cigarette smoke and sweaty old men.

"Home, sweet, home," A chorus of cheers and whistles follow you as you take up your place behind the bar, and begin deftly pulling pints and filling measures of Scotch as per shouted order.

"First night on the job?" A hard Irish voice cuts through the general hum of noise.

You glance in the direction of the voice as you pour out the whiskey, and crack a wry smile. "Have you not heard of a razor, my man?" You scoff as he ruffles his facial hair defensively. "I much prefer a clean shaven man, myself, thank you all the same." You sit the glass down firmly in front of the man, and he flinches. "As I am sure your wife does."

"I can't say much for her," He spits, pausing to wash down the entire drink before he hands over money. "She prefers other men to me, at any rate."

You refill the glass slowly, filling it almost to the brim. He hands you another coin, and you slide it under the counter. "I know that," You close your hands around the bottle, lost in thought for a moment before you return it to the shelf. "Only too well."

"A pretty girl like yourself?" His voice grows harsher with each mouthful he takes. "He must be a fuckin' idiot to have played away from home." He toys with his glass.

"There was only one idiot in that relationship, and it wasn't him."

"I hear ya,"

It could be an hour or ten that pass as you speak to Mr. Irish; the other tender has long since disappeared, and there are only three other stragglers strewn about the pub, each in an advanced state of inebriation, crashing in to tables, knocking chairs flying and stumbling stupidly towards the back exit to relieve themselves every now and again. You are taken quite by surprise at the sound of the bell, and an authoritative voice calling out for last orders. A wretched looking Thomas Shelby drapes himself across the bar towards you, gesturing vaguely for a measure of whiskey, which you oblige without a word. Liam stumbles stupidly towards Tommy, perhaps thinking for a moment of sizing him up, but his voice comes out as a pinched whisper. "Mister Shelby," He swallows audibly. "What brings you here?" Liam follows the gaze of Tommy to the back of your head, as you reach to bring down some toxic liquid from the highest shelf. "Oh," He sniffs. " _Oh_!" He holds up his hands in a display of defeat and he backs away. "Eva, it's been wonderful speaking with you," He turns to Tommy, "Mister Shelby," You turn to him and smile, taking his empty glass from his hand.

"The pleasure is all mine," You don't miss the hard glare Tommy is giving you as you shake Liam's hand. "I will see you again, I'm sure."

"Maybe," Liam's eyes dart to Tommy, and he turns on his heels, making a quick retreat through the back exit.

"Getting friendly with the locals already, I see, Eva," Tommy's tone is cold.

"It's all part of the job, Thomas. Our feminine charms are there to be used." You speak as you clean, moving from table to table, clearing up all manners of liquid and fluids, some of which you would rather keep a mystery. The final louts vacate, leaving just you, Tommy, and a heavy silence. The mop scratches lightly against the wooden floorboards, and you wait for Tommy's next move. He remains static until you are done. The atmosphere between the two of you envelopes you on your walk home, and makes for an uneasy silence as you enter your house, Tommy mere paces behind you. You toy with the idea of shouting, but your remaining common sense settles the idea away. "Is there something on your mind?" In a flash, Tommy is flush against you, his chest heaving, his lips hot and sweet against your own. One hand is knotted in your hair, the other pressing your hand against the wall. There is a graze of teeth as he pulls away, and you're both panting. Your fingers brush over a sticky patch on his cheek, blood. "Yours?" Tommy's hand flicks to inspect, but he doesn't respond to your question, and he's out the door in a flurry. Your heart continues to thunder in your chest long after he has gone, and you find sleep in the bottom of a pitcher of whiskey.

The morning brings vomit and another searing headache, not even a wet rag can bring ease to. Your promise to yourself to avoid any form of alcohol forevermore clearly broken as you spot the empty bottle laid on the floor next to the chair you had passed out in the previous night. Memories are hazy, but you don't doubt that lead brute, Thomas Shelby had indeed put in a move and kissed you. Hours pass and the nausea and pain eventually begin to fade. As the darkness draws in, you ready yourself for another evening serving up sleazy drunken louts. Your least revealing outfit chosen and donned, you start the fifteen minute walk to The Travellers Tavern, looking up only to dodge out of the way of oncoming people and horses. The noises and stenches of the city rumble through you, bringing back that troubling cough. Soon enough, you have taken up your place behind the bar, and your time is spent avoiding the smell of alcohol, and rejecting inappropriate offers from tonight's round of traveling men. You recognize a few hard, reddened faces sitting in a cloud of smoke near to the back exit, but the larger number are passing strangers, stopping for refreshment planning then to head upstairs to spend the night before continuing whatever journey they are embarking on. There is no sign of Liam from the night before. It isn't a moment too soon when you ring the bell and call for last orders, and begin to wipe down unused surfaces. Your own stomach churns and spasms as the final patrons file out, and you promise to stop by the bakery two doors down and buy a loaf of bread to keep starvation at bay. You're not entirely sure what and when you last ate.

Taking a wrong turning in the streets of Birmingham in the small hours of a Friday night is far from advisable. "Fuck." Your eyes scan your surroundings for anything familiar, but you continue to walk in relative blindness, hoping to stumble upon something to reroute you. A dead end presents itself to you, and you swear internally, turning on your heels to retrace your steps.

"Still got a mouth like a fuckin' sailor, Eva." Out of nowhere, you are knocked heavily to the floor. "Suits the cheap little street walker you are."

You gasp for breath, and fumble stupidly for something to hold on to. "Daniel."

"I had a little visit from your new boyfriend," Those hands are still as rough as they ever were, as he heaves you to your feet and pushes you into the wall. "Or client. Or whatever the _fuck_ ," He accentuates the word, squeezing his hand around your throat and knocking your head back against the wall, "the little weasel is." The familiar feeling of panic overcomes you, and you feel yourself start to black out. You don't even try to put up a fight. He broke your arm last time you tried. "Brought his little mates with him, too. All dressed up fancy. Don't know who they're playing with," You feel the fingers of his spare hand dig in to your hip, surely hard enough to break the skin. "But you do, little Eva, don't you, my love?" Your lack of an answer earns you a heavy punch to the mouth. The tears prickle, but you don't dare sob. "Don't you?" His voice is louder, harder, but he knows not to make too much of a scene. There are people nearby. You nod, keeping your eyes closed, and draw in a shaky breath as he releases the grip on your throat. "You know exactly who I am," He kisses you, his lips hot and wet, and the stench of alcohol thick on his breath. "I can remind you who I am, Eva," He kisses you again, his hands straying lower, hitching up your skirt and working to remove your underwear. "I can remind you exactly who the fuck I am," His fingers press inside you for just a moment, then his hikes up your leg and pushes his manhood inside you. Your tears stream, but you stay silent, unmoving, and you don't fight back as he pumps himself roughly in and out of you. He spins you, and pushes your head down, cracking your cheek against the wall, and he pulls back your head, using it as leverage as he forces his length in and out of you until he finally groans his completion, sagging and panting. "That's right." He shoves you to the floor, and you wait, but not for long. Fists and feet strike you in quick, hard succession, you're sobbing, but you're not stupid enough to scream. Daniel leans close to you, and through fuzzed vision, you can see deep gouges around his swollen eyes. Peaky Blinders. "Tell your boyfriend I say hi," He spits on you, and delivers one final kick to your stomach before he stomps off into the darkness. And you gladly let the darkness take over.


	8. Chapter 8

***TRIGGER WARNING. Mature themes, references to domestic violence, substance abuse, infidelity, death

You're unsure of how much time has passed. You also have no recollection of how and when you got home. Things only start to become clear when you're woken by furious hammering on your front door. Looking around, the place is in darkness. It's dark outside, but you're unsure whether it's very late, or very early. Breathing hurts, and you instinctively hold your ribs as you gingerly rise to your feet. "Eva, open the fucking door." You recognize the twang of frustration in Tommy's voice. You open your mouth to answer, but it hurts, so you close it again. Using the back of the sofa and the wall to support your course to the door, you shuffle painfully towards the front door. Tommy hammers impatiently on the door again. "Eva!" The rage in his eyes when you open the door scares you. "Where the fuck have you been?" He steps past the threshold, his superior figure daunting in the darkness. "I've had Gordon at The Travellers putting in complaints that you," You flinch as he points in your face, "haven't turned up for three nights running." He waits for an answer, eyes still blazing like fire in the darkness, but you just turn from him and head carefully back to your place on your sofa. "Eva? What the fuck?" Tommy storms in behind you, and he spins you to face him before you get a chance to sit. You can't stop the yelp of pain as you feel your broken ribs grinding against one another. In an instant, Tommy's face softens, and he brushes your hair from your eyes. "Eva…" He lowers his voice. "Look at me, Eva." You refuse to look up. He crooks a finger under your chin, and guides your head gently one way and the other. "What happened." You don't answer; you lower yourself on to the sofa, hissing as your swollen elbow knocks the arm of the sofa as you sit. "Jesus fucking Christ, Eva." Tommy drops to his knee, he lifts your sleeves and checks the bruising. He raises the bottom of your skirt, and you can't stop the tears. Tommy sees bruising up to your knees, but he doesn't lift your skirt any higher. He mulls over something for a while, balling his fist and pressing it to his lips, perhaps trying to choose his words before he speaks. "Who did this to you?" His voice is little more than a whisper, but it frightens you nonetheless. You shrug. He studies your face awhile, and whatever he decides, he chooses not to push the subject any further. "You're coming with me,"

An hour or so later, you're laid out on a bed in Tommy's house, Polly attending to your wounds, somewhat more gently than you were expecting, whilst Tommy stands with his back against the wall, fingers steepled, pressed against his lips. His jaw is set and tight.

"I suspect there's a fracture in this elbow," Polly lifts your right arm, and you wince, "Sorry," She looks to Tommy, who approaches, studying your scantily clad body, an expression of fury marring his attractive features. Polly gestures to the extensive bruising on your sides, "And a few ribs I'd say here," Polly begins to wrap a bandage around your elbow, stopping only to dab up stray blood running and threatening to spoil the new bandage from an open wound a few inches below your shoulder. "They did a fucking good job on you,"

"How many was it, Eva?" Tommy catches your eyes for a moment, but you look away. He waits patiently for an answer.

"I don't remember,"

"You're not a very good liar," Polly fixes the bandage down, then moves to dab at the cut on your cheek. You hiss at the burn of the alcohol on the broken skin. Taking a break, Polly sparks up a cigarette, and sits back in her seat to observe you. "If you tell us, we can sort out the problem for you," That is exactly your fear.

"It was dark. I was tired. I didn't see who attacked me,"

"Why didn't you come to me, Eva?" Tommy sounds between hurt and angry as he speaks. He withdraws up his own cigarette, pausing to tap it firmly on the cigarette tin before he lights it. "I could have…" His words hang in the air, and he stares at you calculatingly. A moment later, he is up close again, finger pointing in your face. "It was him wasn't it?" He thumps the table you're now sitting on, and you flinch.

Polly moves between you and pushes Tommy back. "Settle down, Thomas, I think she's had enough."

Tommy doesn't take his eyes off you, and you can't return his glare. "I fucking knew it." He glides across the room, filling and downing a glass of whiskey, then he takes a deep drag of his cigarette, staring at the door, shaking his head. "We should have fucking killed him when we had the chance." He chuckles dryly. "What else did he do to you, Eva?"

Polly sets aside her cigarette in a nearby ashtray, and helps you gently into a simple, soft dress. "Thomas, she hardly needs you shouting at her right now. She will tell you when she's ready," She searches your eyes for affirmation.

"What else did he do to you?" Tommy hunches over the window sill, pressing his palms against the wall. Minutes pass in a tense silence, but when Tommy speaks again, his voice is calmer. "Polly, would you mind?"

Polly looks to you, and you nod your assent. "Thank you," She nods, glares at Tommy, then takes her leave.

You look to Tommy as he sparks up another smoke, then crosses the room to sit next to you. "I'm sorry, Eva," He doesn't look at you, instead stares at the floor as he speaks. "It's my fault." He takes a draw from his cigarette before continuing. "The day Finn took you to your work, Arthur, John and I paid Daniel a visit." He's refilled his whiskey glass, and he swirls the remnants around the bottom of his glass as he speaks. "We beat the shit in to him for what he did to you," Silence stretches out between you. Eventually Tommy pipes up. "And the baby," You close your eyes, and the tears come again. "I know about the baby, Eva." He continues. "I know he made you lose the baby. I wanted to kill him." The laugh he lets out is devoid of humor. "But I wanted him to suffer for what he did." After a while, Tommy reaches for your hand, and you let him hold it. He pulls you close, and you let the tears come, remembering everything. Through Daniel's heavy hand, your little William had fallen asleep forever minutes after he was born.

At some point, sleep had overcome, and when you wake, you and Tommy are sideways across the bed, fingers interlaced. It isn't long before Tommy's eyes flutter open, and he sits, rubbing his forehead. "Fuck," Is all he says before getting to his feet and turning to leave. You close your fingers around his, stopping his exit, and you pull him to you.

"Please?" Tommy looks disheveled, and he runs his fingers through his hair, looking at you through sleep hazy eyes. "Don't leave me."

He pauses for a moment first, then deftly slips out of his outer clothes and slips in to the bed next to you. You turn on your side, feeling his warmth radiating towards you. His sapphire eyes fix on yours, then drift to your cheek. His fingers follow. "What did he do to you?" He isn't really asking a question. "I'm sorry, Eva. It's my fault. I should have killed him." You reach up to hold his hand, shaking your head gently. You close your eyes, and his lips are on yours, pressing, urgent. His hands move down your sides, hold your hips, and in one move, he has you on your back, and he's on all fours over you, panting, his eyes on yours, his hands holding your wrists down. His eyes almost glow with anticipation, but he doesn't make another move until your signal. His hands slide up your thigh, moving the fabric of your silk dress with it, his lips explore your lips, your neck, your ears. You can feel him hard against you, and you buck your hips up in to him, raising one knee in invitation. One hand clasps yours, as the other positions, and you hiss as he slides in. He pauses for just a moment, allowing you to adjust, peppering kisses along your jawline, moving back to your lips as he begins moving. You feel his breath catching as he moves, grasping at your thighs and your rear, coming up on his knees to get a better angle. You run your free hand through his hair, up and down his back, running your nails over his skin, and you can hear him moaning softly. Tommy's spare hand flies out and grasps on to the top of the bed; you feel him slip deeper into you, and you can't stop the noises coming from you as he pushes himself harder, deeper into you, his pelvis pivoting just so, creating that beautiful warmth down low in you. You see him bite his lip and close his eyes, and his breath catches again. In a moment, you close your own eyes, as you feel the fireworks setting off in your body. His hands flails and grabs your wrist, his breathing stuttering as he thrusts, ever more quickly, and your moan pushes him over the edge, and his breathing comes sharp and fast, pumping into you until the very end. That's the last thing you remember before you fall in to a heavy slumber.


	9. Chapter 9

It's been three weeks since your night of passion with Tommy Shelby, and neither of you have breathed a word of it since. Judging by Aunt Polly's glowers, she has a pretty good idea what went down between the pair of you, but if Tommy also notices, he says nothing. The only sign he gives of anything, is lingering gazes at you when he thinks you're not paying attention. You've been attending the Shelby Household for meals and tea three times a week, and you've been helping Ada and Polly with numbers here and there. Your nights at the pub have since been uneventful, and you're glad of it, although the fear of another meeting with your ex is ever present in the back of your mind. Tommy has arranged for one of his crew to walk you home at the end of your shift as back up, and so far, there has been no trouble.

It's a Friday night when things liven up at The Traveller's Tavern. Drunken louts playing a game of darts, and they decide there is something dodgy afoot and take it upon themselves to sort it out with a heavy hand. The two of them are regular attendees, both of whom you know by name. You ignore the first few swear words and raised voices you hear, having grown more than used to such performances from the supposedly superior sex. Once pushing begins, you opt for the polite option of ringing the bell and telling them, "That'll do, thank you, gents," knowing that your words will more than likely go unheeded.

Within a matter of minutes, the first punch is landed, and the ongoing headache you've had for the past week shortens your tether for juvenile idiocy and pissing matches even more. "If you're going to continue, you can do so in the street." You approach the group cautiously, wondering whether you should have brought the gun as backup. "I don't wish to have any damages taken out of my wages, thank you all the same."

"This doesn't concern you, little girl," Harold's voice is hard and disrespectful. You bristle, but allow the comment to pass.

"I don't want to have to lose my temper, gentlemen. It wouldn't be very lady like." You catch the eye of Frank as he turns to smirk at you, and you smile glossily back at him.

"And just what kind of harm do you think a little girl like you could do?" Frank's face twists in to an unattractive leer, and he reaches out a huge hand to twirl your hair around his fingers.

"Oh you don't know, Frank, old boy; she's a Peaky lass is that one," Harold steps up from behind Frank, an equally gruesome looking grin on his haggard face. "She's got them boys all wrapped around her little finger." You set your jaw, but you don't answer, or back down. "Word has it Mister Thomas has a twinkle in his eye for her."

"Is that so?" Frank's hand drops to the neckline of your dress. You step back.

"That's enough," You feel your fists balling at your sides, but your stomach flips uneasily, contradicting your stern exterior.

"Maybe she doesn't feel the same," Frank closes in to your personal space, in one swift move grabbing you and pulling you close to him. "Maybe she wants a real man." His breath is hot and rancid in your face, and the next moments pass in a blur.

The closest item to you is a chair; it finds itself shattered across the head of Frank. "Get the fuck out!" You brandish the remains of the chair at the second culprit, pausing to kick the man you've just sent crashing to the floor. "And you!"

"Jesus fucking Christ woman!" He grasps his injured head, pulls himself up with his spare hand then holds it out in front of him, shielding himself from any further attack.

"Out!" Perhaps not fancying to try your patience any further, both men retreat, grumbling and cursing, and it's not until they have left you become aware of your audience. "Anyone else?"

You don't expect the answer that comes. A broad, Cockney accent, accompanied by slow, mocking clapping. "A girl after my own heart." A tall, bearded man, who has an air of aristocracy about him stands up, tipping his glass to you. You remember serving him and his two lackeys with straight whiskey when they had arrived earlier on in the evening. "Get me a refill will you, love?" He follows you to the bar and sets down the glass. You go about your duties wordlessly, still shaking from the adrenaline rush, and set the glass back down, taking a moment to measure up the newcomer. You haven't seen him before tonight. "That was quite impressive." He leans towards you, and traces a finger over the back of your hand. You move your hand away. "Tell me, do you treat your husband the same way?" His eyes look almost through you, and you feel your stomach spasm again with unease. His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "You don't have a husband?" His smile stays, and he doesn't move, holding your gaze. Finally, he breaks the tension with a dry chuckle. "Fill her up again," You oblige. "Tell me," He glances around animatedly, then back to you. "Do you have anywhere to be after you finish?"

You lean towards him, making sure to keep your hands clear, and smile wryly. "As a matter of fact, I do," You tap the bar, and hold your hand out. "That's two you owe for now."

Keeping your eye, the man pulls a wallet from his pocket, and empties some coins on to the bar. "I'll take the bottle." That smile cracks again, and he watches you count out the coins. You slide the bottle across the bar to him. "I will see you again, sweet lady," He seals his promise with a wink, and takes the bottle as he stands. "Off we go, boys!" His little crew get to their feet without a second thought and head to the door. "Good night, sweetheart." You stare after him for a long while, then move to ring the bell for last orders. Not a moment too soon.

After a quiet walk home with Finn, who leaves you at your door with a smile and a nod, you sleep solid through the night for the first time in maybe forever.


	10. Chapter 10

TRIGGER WARNING - explicit scene, domestic violence triggers, extreme violence

**Disclaimer - I've based the horse on my own sweet girl, who passed over Rainbow Bridge suddenly on May 12th 2013 x x Love you miss you, Brandy

Saturday mornings become your time with Aunt Polly and Ada, counting up monies and sorting through wages. There is a race coming up, and there is a lot of noise and excitement about it in the Shelby household. You've heard talk of gypsy spells being cast on the horses, and you're aware from talk in The Traveller's alone that a lot of people are putting money on the mare the Shelby's are putting in to the race. It is perhaps that, which sets off the most recent argument between the three Shelby brothers, which had turned more than a little unpleasant. You find yourself dabbing at Tommy's split lip with cotton and alcohol, whilst Polly cleans up Arthur. "And now the pair of you will look a fucking mess for the race tomorrow." Polly admonishes her nephews as they exchange disgruntled looks from across the room. "It's not like you can wear a nice hat or scarf to cover it now, is it?" Arthur hisses in pain as Polly pats his cheek firmly. "Off you fuck." He obliges, clearly not wanting to displease Polly any further.

You look back to Tommy, just in time to see his eyes on you. "I think you're done."

He nods, and brushes his fingers over your hand. "Thank you," It's your turn to nod, as you take a seat at the table, and take up your cup of tea Polly had poured you moments before the fight had broken out. Thankfully, it's still hot. Tommy sits across from you, not daring to lift his eyes and attract the attention of Aunt Polly.

"How is the horse?" All eyes are on you, and you feel a blush creeping across your face. "I'd like to meet her, if that's…" You swallow, and look from Polly to Tommy. "If that would be okay?"

Tommy is sparking up a cigarette. He gets to his feet and gestures for you to follow suit.

An hour later, you are sitting bareback on the most beautiful chestnut thoroughbred mare you have ever laid eyes on. Tommy is standing leaning against the fence, watching you with forced nonchalance, as you set Large Brandy through her floating paces. She is quiet yet responsive, and the moment you ease the rein back she drops smoothly back in to walk. "What will happen to her after the race?"

"That depends on whether she wins." Tommy flicks his cigarette on to the ground and stamps it out. "It's her first race tomorrow,"

Coming to a halt next to Tommy, you let her reins loose, resting your hands on her withers, and she drops her head. You stroke her neck gently, winding your fingers through her soft mane absently. "If she doesn't win?" Tommy doesn't answer, but he doesn't need to. "That's awful."

"It's about making money, Eva," He raises a hand to smooth Brandy's cheek. "If they don't make the money, they can't stay costing us." You stay silent for a while, not wishing to know what happens to losing racehorses when they're sold on for cheap. "I don't like it, but business is business." Taking a gentle hold of Brandy's bridle, Tommy nudges her gently forward, back to the stables. Neither of you speak as you untack and groom Brandy. Brandy settles in to her rack of hay as soon as you throw it in for her, and you remain, inhaling her musky scent, running your hands down her neck. "I hope you win tomorrow, baby," Tommy waits in the doorway for you. Your walk back to the house is quiet, morose. Once inside, you are thrust another cup of tea, which you gratefully accept. "Thank you, Polly." She nods.

Ada breezes into the room, bursting in to some rant and rave you choose to zone out of, in favor of enjoying your hot tea. As quickly as she had appeared, Ada disappears, and it's just you and Tommy in the room, and he's helping you in to your coat, ready to walk you home. His hands linger by your sides, and he stands a step too close. You long to reach and touch him, but you play it safe and just don't move away in a hurry.

He follows you in to your house, pausing to shut the front door behind him, and he closes the gap between you both in just a pace. Now you're alone, he pushes you up against the wall, and he presses his lips against yours hungrily. His tongue toys at the seam of your lips, pleading, and you part your lips with a moan, slumping back against the wall and pulling him flush against you. "Eva," His voice ghosts across your lips, making you shudder involuntarily. His kiss deepens, and you find yourself walking backwards, his hands roaming over your body, undoing whatever he can find, pulling up your skirt and hooking his fingers in to your underwear. Your hands undo his buttons, push off his coat, and begin to undo his trousers. The banging sound you had both been ignoring becomes louder, more insistent. Tommy swears loudly, pulling away from you and adjusting his clothes. He marches up to the whiskey and pours himself out a large measure, continuing to swear.

You hurry to the door, setting your dress straight and running a thumb under your lip to correct any smudged lipstick. "Hold on," You open the door, and you've hit the floor before you realize what's happening.

"Eva?" Tommy's voice seems to echo as your head swims, and the pain begins to filter in through your senses. The next thing you're aware of is sounds of scuffling and a lot more swearing than you're accustomed to. Your vision slowly comes back in to focus as you stagger up from the floor, and you head toward the activity in your living room.

"Tommy fucking Shelby, Eva, really?" Daniel's angry spits out from between his thin lips, and for a moment, those awful hazel eyes stare hard at you, that same hate and resentment you've come to know too well in them. Your first instinct if to run, as far away from that monster as your legs will carry you, but seeing Tommy spattered in his own blood, laying prone as Daniel advances on him sets something in you you've not felt before. "Did you think I wouldn't find you?" Daniel's mocking tone brings back memories you wish you didn't have. With Daniel on all fours over Tommy, latching his hands around Tommy's throat, you reach for the thick glass whiskey pitcher and you swing. It's a disturbingly satisfying crack it makes on the back of his head, and better still when he howls in pain. "You fucking bitch!" He launches himself across the room as you, bringing you once again against the wall, once again with his hand around your throat, and you feel yourself beginning to black out, more through fear than lack of oxygen. You can hear Tommy calling your name. Daniel's hands squeeze tighter around your throat. "I should have done this years ago." You're not sure if you shout the same back at him, but you feel the sticky heat spouting over your hand and face when you plunge the shard of the pitcher Daniel hadn't noticed in to the delicate skin of his throat. A moment later, Tommy is propping you up, talking, you think, shaking you, but you're not quite with him, watching as Daniel's expression changes through shock, anger, acceptance. His hand grasps hopelessly at his torn throat, the thick choking sounds are awful. Tommy pays no mind to the dying man in the room; his efforts are all on you. It's hardly a new and shocking sight to him. Daniel drops to his knees, his front, and he settles, the only movement being the bright red pool forming around him.

"Eva? Eva?" Tommy's voice grows louder, more concerned. He turns your face to him, his blue eyes burning in to yours. "Stay with me, Eva." You smile. "We need to go."

"I'm sorry about the glass," You look at the blood stained shard in your hand, "and the whiskey."

"Eva," He takes on his more commanding tone. Sergeant Major Shelby. "We need to go."

You point. "What about him?"

"He's not a problem any more, Eva. Don't worry about him. We need to get you back to the house and get you cleaned up." He hands you his coat to cover your tattered dress, and guides you out of the house.

"What the fuck happened?" Aunt Pol pushes Tommy off your side, helping you to sit carefully. "Is she hurt?"

You fade back in to the here and now, and you lock eyes with Polly. "I'm fine, Aunt Pol. I just need a bath." She turns to look at Tommy. "My darling ex, Daniel, paid a visit.," You look to Tommy. "Again," He flinches at your words.

"What did you do to him?" Polly glances over Tommy, then grabs your blood stained hand and holds it up, indicating it vastly.

"What I should have done a long time ago," You smile for a moment, but your tone changes when you rush to the nearest empty bucket and hurl in to it. In the background, you hear Aunt Polly scolding Tommy for coming home with more bruises she will have to try and cover in time for the race tomorrow. You smile before you pass out.


	11. Chapter 11

Smut warning**

June announces its arrival as most months do in Britain, with a seemingly endless amount of torrential rain. Things have been quiet in the weeks since you truly became a member of the murderous street gang family, having had a literal hand in the demise of your violent ex partner, Daniel Beaven. Although you still wake at night in a sweat having had nightmares about it. Most nights, Tommy has appeared in your room whilst you've been sleeping, and he is on hand to cradle and soothe you back to sleep. On the nights he isn't, you often find yourself in the stable with Brandy, sitting in the corner of her stable, watching her as she stands, or eats her hay. She will come to stand by you quietly, offering her head for fuss and cuddles, and she returns the favor with gentle, hot blows to your ear. One such night, there is a storm raging outside. You wake with a start in response to a clap of thunder, and you are out of bed faster than you thought possible. Your first thought is of Brandy, and you hope she isn't frightened. As you stand in the bathroom, hands either side of the sink, head bowed, unsure of whether or not you are about to hurl, you feel a warm hand touch the small of your back. You relax back in to the touch, and your nausea dissipates. You've been staying at The Shelby Residence since your encounter with Daniel in your own home. Tommy's hand runs down your back, over your rear, and around to rest on top of your thigh. He is standing close, and you feel him press himself against you, grinding his pelvis in to you. "Come to bed?" Who are you to resist? It isn't long before you are both under the covers, wearing nothing, and your leg is up and over his, and his hand is running up your thigh, whilst he nips at your lips, groaning wantonly. You feel his wetness against your stomach, and run your hand slowly up and down the length. His fingers dig in to your hips in response. "Eva," There is quiet, aside from the noise of the sheets, as Tommy pushes his tongue in to your mouth, kissing you hard enough to take your breath away. "Please," You smile, your eyes on his, and you run a finger over his lips. He kisses at it, and repeats his plead. The hand on your hip pulls, and he shifts you up over him, positioning you and raising his hips. He swears as you lower yourself on to him, and you can already feel yourself throbbing down low. Every movement you make keeps you right on the edge, and you stop for a moment to compose yourself. Tommy's hands are on your hips, your rear, anywhere he can grasp to gain purchase. He is thrusting himself up in to you, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "Please." He pulls you down to lay on top of you, his arms wrapping around you to hold you close as he matches your movements. His breathing is heavy and loud, and yours is coming in stutters as you both speed up, and you pull up each time just enough to feel him slide in and out, your hand finds his, and you drop your head down on to his shoulder, your mouth coming out with a litany of swear words and gasps and moans. Tommy cries out as he finds his release, and you follow a moment later, finally coming to rest on top of him, and there you stay, him still pulsing inside you, until you fall in to a heavy slumber.

The usual post-sex quietness befalls the pair of you, likely making it more obvious than not what is going on. Tommy gives you eyes from across the room as business is discussed, Polly gives you both eyes from her standpoint at the side of the room by the wall. The subject at hand today is the final race; the deciding one, where they dope up sweet Brandy, and she loses the race, bringing in the betting money for the Shelbys. Beginning to feel light headed, you signal for Ada to shuffle up on her chair to let you sit. Polly watches you, one eyebrow raised. You stifle a yawn as the meeting comes to an end and choose to ignore the disapproving look Tommy is rewarding you with from the boss table across the room. Once the rest of the family has filtered out of the room, Tommy remains in his seat, silently staring at the side of your head as you pointedly ignore him. Frustration eventually wins, and he speaks. "There's a ball coming up two weeks from now." His usual clipped, business like tone. "I've arranged a dress for you to wear. I suggest you go with it, so as not to flare up any tempers."

"I'm guessing this isn't a night our for pleasure,"

Tommy scoots forward in his chair, holding aside his cigarette and his tumbler of whiskey in one hand, and he fixes you with one of his steely glares. "I need you to play the part. You will come with me, you will dance, you will smile, and speak when spoken to. You will distract the right people at the right time, so I can do what I need to do."

You chew your lip, biting back the urge to tell him where to go, and nod curtly. "That's all?"

Tommy blinks, sitting back in his chair again.

"I look forward to it," You grind out dryly.

You don't speak to Tommy for a while. Not, in fact, until the day of the dance. You've spent time with Brandy; pushed Curly aside to muck out her stable and bed her down comfortably, taken her across fields and down tracks in the spring sunshine. She had been groggy for a day or two after the final race. The Shelbys have been drinking to their newfound crooked glory just about every night since. You're throwing the last of the hay in to her hay rack when you become aware of another presence behind you. Tommy leans in the doorway, idly twiddling with a piece of hay. "I thought I'd find you here."

You don't reply immediately. "I'm surprised you bothered to look,"

"Eva-" He cuts himself off with a sharp sigh, and tosses the hay aside. "Things have been up in the air, with the race, with the," He chooses his words carefully, "business tonight." You hum disinterestedly in response, despite knowing you will flare up the bad gangster boy. "Look, I'm sorry, okay?" He has appeared behind you, and he turns you to face him. He brushes a hand over your cheek, and brings you in to a gentle kiss. "I'm sorry." He fixes you with his cerulean gaze. "Let's try to enjoy tonight, as much as we can, okay?" You grit your teeth and nod, but you still lace your fingers with his as you walk back towards the house.

Ada takes the lead in your make over, and you try to enjoy the attention and too-close proximity of the whole ordeal. In her defence, she does an impressive job, and you don't look half the disheveled tramp you usually do. She walks you through to a full length mirror and you pose playfully as you both giggle. It's been many years since you've worn a ball gown, and you can't deny you feel like a princess wearing it. Ada has pinned your hair up, leaving only a few curls hanging gently down.

"You brush up well." Ada and you both look to the source of the voice; Polly struts in to the room, tossing aside her scarf. "You'll have no problem distracting the men," She glances to you bosom, and you cover it self consciously with your shawl.

At that moment, Tommy strides in to the room, fixed up, suit and bow tie, and his look completed with a side parting. His eyes lock on you, and he stops dead. "Eva..." Stoicism back in check, he looks away, clearing his throat loudly. "Our lift awaits," Ensuring he doesn't look at you again, Tommy leads you out to the front of the house, where a black car awaits.

"I've never ridden in a car," You remark as you approach the vehicle. Tommy smiles as he opens the door and helps you in. He joins you and signals for the driver to move off, then he moves his hand to hold yours. You ride in silence, and arrive twenty or so minutes later. Tommy helps you out, and you scurry to the closest wall to hold on to whilst you steady yourself. "I'm not sure if I'm going to vomit," You cover your mouth with your hand, taking deep breaths.

Tommy stands beside you and waits. Once you're over the worst of it, he leads you around the side of the building and marches purposefully ahead. "I asked them to drop us at the back of the building to try and avoid a scene if we cross paths with certain _allies_ ," You glance at him, but not a bone in your body wants any more details.

Inside the building, you gape in wonder at the beautiful interior. High ceilings adorned with intricate patterns, gold framed paintings line the walls, drapes from the ceiling to the floor. The centerpiece of the room is an ornate chandelier, which looks to be carved out of pure gold. Tables are set out all around the outer edge of the room, sporting glasses of champagne, and plates upon plates of various foods. Aware that your gawping may be drawing unwanted attention, you fix your attention back on Tommy and the task in hand. Tommy hands you a champagne flute, and you accept it with a polite nod. His eyes scan the crowd around him as you both make your way through the room, making for the dance floor after you've set down your glasses. His hands touch your shoulder and your hand gently, and you both move in time to the music, Tommy taking the lead as you try not to stumble over your own feet. His eyes are on you again, and the hard, business edge is back in them. "The man with the red coat." He gives you no more indication than casting his eyes, "When you get to him, I need you to pass out in his arms," You frown, but make no comment. "No more, no less. It will give me enough time to do what I need to do. I will come and find you as soon as I'm done," You nod. "Are you okay with this?"

You shrug. "Too late to back out now,"

You make your way down the line of dancers, holding polite, often stilted conversation with each man in your time together. You begin to feel like you won't need to fake passing out, as a familiar dizziness comes over you. There is one more man to dance with before you get to your target. The dizziness settles some, but the nausea washes over you again. You move to your final dance, pausing to curtsy and introduce yourself before you take hold of one another and begin to move to the music. The conversation flows easily between you, and thankfully doesn't come around to asking who you've come along with. You spot Tommy across the room, he's moved away from the dance, and is standing poised on the edge of the throng of bystanders. His eyes are on you, his stance tense. His hand raises and he touches his nose and bows his head. You drop. You're aware of a flurry of activity around you, and you try not to flinch at the chorus of screams and raised voices surrounding you. "Give her some space!" You don't know the voice. You feel yourself being carried, and the air around you grows cooler. You flutter your eyes open, and the man in the red coat is crouched down next to you, dabbing your forehead. "Are you okay, Miss?" His eyes are wide with concern, and he is visibly shaking. "Don't move; I'll fetch you some water." He rises and spins around, but a moment later, he is sprawled on the ground next to you.

"Not to worry, mate. I'll take her from here," That voice. Hard, Cockney accent. It's coming from the shadows behind you. You have little time for the penny to drop before you once again fall in to darkness.


	12. Chapter 12

Waking up with a splitting headache, a dry mouth and no idea of where you are is becoming far too much of a common occurrence for your liking. You blink against the light, your eyes matching your mouth for dryness.

"Welcome home, Eva," That _voice_. "I was starting to think you weren't going to come back to us. You've been out all night." You can't yet see who is talking. The voice is coming from behind you. "Boys. Fetch her a drink." Guessing once again you have nothing to lose, you gulp back the water willingly. Hopefully death will be instant if it is to be. The gag is shoved roughly back in to your mouth. Something tells you the person who has kidnapped you probably has little desire to make your death quick and painless. Finally coming in to view, the man crouches down in front of you, and he looks straight in to your eyes with a mocking smile. It's the man from the bar the night you obliterated a chair across that idiot's head. "I can see what he sees in you." His eyes drop to your cleavage, and your skin crawls. His smile widens, and he pulls up a chair of his own, sitting backwards on it, and he rests his chin on the back of the chair. "I'm very sorry for the inconvenience of this all," He offers insincerely, "but I made a perfectly good offer to good old Tommy fuckin' Shelby, and he threw it right back in my fuckin' face." He throws his arms out to the side in an exaggerated gesture. "He drives a hard bargain, that man," He grabs a glass off the table behind him and takes a gulp. He holds it out to you. "Gin?" You shake your head. He shrugs. "Your loss." He finishes his glass and sets it back where it had been. "Anyway," He gets to his feet and begins pacing back and forth in front of you. "Where were we? Oh yeah. Thomas Shelby. I offered him a good fuckin' deal, but it obviously wasn't good _enough_. So I thought I would," He indicates you, "give him some incentive, to rethink his decision." You raise your eyebrows, strangely glad you're unable to speak back and give out a sarcastic comment you know you would be left to regret. "You don't mind, do you?" He barks out a laugh. "Of course you don't." He stops in front of you, clapping a hand to his chest dramatically. "How rude of me, I haven't introduced myself. I'm Alfie Solomons. A good friend of our dear Thomas." The name rings a distant bell. A death bell as opposed to anything remotely positive. You've overheard his name being ground out in Shelby conversations, and you've picked up enough to know he's a pretty nasty gang leader from London. You smile bitterly to yourself as you realize your situation backs up the notion rather well. "So. If you'd be obliged, you'll be staying with me for a little while." He looks behind you and nods, and in a moment, you're being dragged to your feet. "Just until good old Tommy reconsiders his position." Alfie pats you on the shoulder before you are taken through a series of darkened hallways, then pushed in to a scantily decorated room.

Time passes, it could be days or weeks, and you spend your time locked in something resembling a chamber, bread and water being tossed in with you now and again, and you are let out once every few days to wash in cold water. So it is rather a surprise when you are towed out and thrown in to a flashy looking dress, after having a good scrub in a tepid bath. As you are having the last tendrils of your hair pinned in to place by a delicate, fresh faced maid, the door behind you swings open, and the brash voice of Alfie Solomons fills the room. "Eva. Looking fabulous, I must say," You don't respond. "Now, I have an interesting little assignment for you tonight. Just to see what you're really up to." You flinch as his raises his hand to stroke down a stray strand of your hair. "I've heard some interesting things about you, and I must say, I was mightily impressed by the mess you made of dear old Daniel." You look up to him sharply, but you don't speak. "Oh yes, sweet thing." Alfie runs his hand down your arm, then closes his hand around yours. "He still had enough breath left in him to tell me who put the glass in his throat." He chuckles dryly, and he tugs you towards the door.

Ten minutes later, you're trotting down darkened streets you aren't even slightly familiar with, struggling to keep up with the pace of the man towing you along. The air is acrid, the stench of human waste and smoke from factories thick in the air, but there is something different about the streets and the buildings. You begin down a new, wider street, lined each side with stalls of various baked and fresh goods, the sellers all competing to shout each other down in a bid to get more money. Their accents are harsher than the Brummie twang you're used to, and realization sets in that you are no longer in your home town. Alfie strides down the center of the street, and people part around him like the Red Sea, clearly in they know exactly who he is. He grabs an apple off one stall and thanks the tender, but gives him no money. There is no protest. "Seeing as you clearly ain't going to ask, I'll tell you where we are going." He pauses for a while, choosing to take a few bites of the apple, then discards it to the side. "You and I are going to a nice fucking dance together. There's going to be food, and alcohol." He yanks you down another turning. "And a lot of fucking bullets." Alfie stops dead, and you halt beside him, watching as he adjusts his clothes, his eyes set on a grand looking building a few yards ahead of you both. "Because those fuckers robbed my fucking brewery." He pulls out a handgun from an inner pocket of his coat and pushes it in to your hand. "I will point out your targets when we get in there."

"I'm not shooting anyone."

Alfie smiles at you, he rests his hands on your shoulders and leans in close. "Oh but you are, darling. Because if you don't, your sweet little Brandy will have a bullet right between her eyes." You grit your teeth and your hands tighten around the barrel of the gun. Alfie smiles brightly and claps you on the shoulders. "That's the spirit. Now," He takes your gloved hand in his, and you head to the dance.

Alfie's grip on your hand and hip are anything but gentle, and it's all you can muster not to descend in to blind panic as your mind decides it's a good time to bring back memories of the heavy handedness of Daniel over the years. Your stomach lurches, and you can't help leaning in to Alfie as your head spins. He pushes your weight back and glowers at you. "Get a fucking grip, woman, you'll be firing a gun a few minutes from now." He's moved the two of you in to a remote corner, his eyes scanning the surrounding people all the time for any signs of trouble. People are watching him in return, you are aware of the suspicious looks being cast your way. "And if you don't," Alfie continues. "Think of sweet Brandy, lying on the floor, a nice hole in her head." You feel Alfie tense, and you suck in a deep breath. "Our friends have arrived," He turns you slowly, shifting you both to meld in to the crowd better. It isn't difficult for the straggly haired, weedy looking newcomers not to be noticed. Clearly already under the influence, they head straight for the drink, all jeering loudly and pushing each other around. "Now if I can count correctly, there are four. That's two for me, and two for you." Alfie reaches for his own gun and signals for you to follow. "Spinal each." He digs his fingers in to the small of your back, "Right there. If they survive, they won't fuck with me again, if not, we are a few more street rats down. You'll have to act fast. And then run." He begins purposefully towards the oblivious shooting-victims-to-be, and you stagger along stupidly behind him. Your heart is racing, you can hear it in your head, and you begin to feel the floor move under your feet. You pick your feet up higher, trying not to trip over the floor and piss off the more brutal gang leader. Your hands are shaking as you withdraw the gun from under your dress, and you glance around, searching for witnesses. "Gentlemen," You jump at the sound of the gunshot, and hysteria breaks out all around; women screaming, men shouting. Alfie pushes you roughly towards one of the men, and your gun goes off, sending the man howling to the floor, then your turn your gun on the other man, adrenaline taking over as you pull the trigger for a second time. The second man slumps to the floor lifelessly, but you have no time to study your handiwork before you are once again hauled away, the harsh tones of Alfie's voice roaring at you. The pair of you vanish in to the chaos around you, and reemerge out the other side in to the street moments later, Alfie pulling you through a series of dingy alleyways until you crash to the floor, tearing the front of the dress. "For fuck sake." Alfie drags you to your feet. "Get up. We are almost home." You shudder at his choice of words, and dust yourself down, your chest heaving painfully with every breath. You realize the gun is still tightly gripped in your hand, and marvel it hadn't gone off when you fell. Alfie snatches it, taking a layer of your skin with it, and he launches it in to the filthy river you're marching alongside. "That's that," He has taken a handkerchief out of his pocket, and is wiping away the blood from his cheeks. You absently run your hand over your face, feeling splatters of a warm, sticky substance you needn't doubt is blood. "You can wash up when we get in." He trots up the steps to the front door of the house, and barges through it loudly. "Consuela, hot water, now." He tosses aside his coat and runs up the stairs, leaving you standing alone in the entranceway. Consuela appears, and she walks to you, laying a gentle hand on your arm. She doesn't speak, but she leads you in to the living room, sitting you down next to a roaring open fire. Consuela sets about cleaning you up, glancing to you occasionally, and offering you a warm, sincere smile. Your heart sinks as she retreats at Alfie's entrance. "Now. It's high fucking time you went back to your room." At his word, one of his thugs appears, and he begins pushing you back towards your dungeon. "You did well tonight," You turn to face Alfie as you are returned to the dank, dark room, still in the torn ball gown, "but I haven't forgotten who you are." The door slams and you hear the lock, and you return to your time of solitary confinement.


	13. Chapter 13

Oh yes I did it. I stole those lyrics and I put them in the story!

It becomes somewhat of a tradition for you and Alfie to go on a tour of terror on the streets of London. Every few nights, you are pulled from your prison, dressed up, and taken to some street, or bar, or social gathering or show or another, and you stand, doll faced on the sidelines, smiling and nodding as required, until Alfie gives you your signal. He is becoming more hands-on with his approach. You've traded guns for knives, and even glass dipped rope. The latter is the torture weapon of choice this particular Thursday evening, at some point in late July, when you are ambling dutifully along a street, a few paces behind Alfie. The air is sticky and uncomfortable around you. No matter how many times you run your hand over your face and brush your hair out of your eyes, it makes no difference. You're glad to be wearing little more than a petticoat and a simple dress. Blending in for your latest heinous act. Beyond the threat of Brandy, a slightly more easy-to-access method of encouragement has been used when you've tried to answer back or step out of line. Bringing back memories you'd have hoped might have been well buried by now, the same kind of belt your father used to use to 'teach a lesson' has been laid across your rear end on more than one occasion. Drifting back to the here and now, you realize Alfie is talking. You try to pay attention. The swearing is cut up by some back story of betrayal and mockery, and something tells you these are two things Alfie isn't too keen on. "Now, I ain't fussed whether or not you kill 'im, but if you do, it would save any future hassle from him, you hear me?" He glances to you, but he doesn't wait for you to answer. He uses his hands to gesture as he talks. "Just give him a good squeeze when I tell ya," He points at the side of your head. "Only on my say so," You nod. "Good girl." His face splits in to a sadistic grin, and he jabs a thumb towards a ragged looking building a few yards from where you've come to a standstill. "My boys have got him softened up ready for me," In a crooked show of gentlemanliness, Alfie opens the door and allows you to enter first, then proceeds to guide you through an innocent looking bakery, and down in to a relatively blank room. Glancing at your surroundings, you deduce that it is perhaps some kind of distillery, and the sharp smell of alcohol lends your idea some creedence. You've overheard talk about a distillery and a bakery whilst in the house, mixed in with the word 'business', so perhaps this is where the magic happens. "We're just going in to make sure the point has gotten across." Three faces with whom you have become undesirably familiar look up at the two of you as you enter. The fourth is tied to a chair, gagged and bleeding. His dark eyes looking pleadingly to you as he sobs loudly through the fabric in his mouth. His trousers are stained with blood and what must be urine, his top torn and spattered with more bright red. The skin on his cheeks is tinged with fresh bruising, and he's hopelessly flapping his mangled hands. You look away. Alfie signals for you to take up your station behind the tortured man, "Mr. Hughes," Alfie strikes his stick on the floor, smiling at the flinch it earns from everyone in the room. "I trust you understand why you've been called to this meeting?" The man nods. "Is there anything you would care to say?" Frederick unhooks the gag from the bloodied mouth of the victim, then moves away.

"Please," His voice is a choked whisper. "Don't kill me,"

Alfie laughs dryly. "Mr. Hughes, please. What do you think I am? I'm not going to kill you." The look of relief disappears as soon as it appears, realization setting in at the meaning behind the words, and the man's face pales as his eyes flick from one person to the next around him. You remain pointedly avoiding his eye contact. "I just want insurance that your shitty little company won't be ripping me off again, is all." Alfie leans against the wooden desk behind him, and he looks at his hands, stretching them out flat, clenching them and turning them over. The fist soon collides with the face of poor Mr. Hughes. You close your eyes. Alfie lays another punch, then nods to you, and you oblige reluctantly. You place the rope around the neck of the man in front of you, and apply just enough pressure for the shards of glass to break the skin. His muffled cries send chills through you. You idly wonder how long Alfie is planning to keep you as his little play thing. Whether he will get bored and discard you - be it throwing you out on the streets or putting a bullet in your head - or whether he plans on keeping you for an extended period of time. Again, you wonder exactly why he appears to be training you up; towards what. "Eva." Alfie's hard voice breaks you out of your reverie. He stares hard at you, and you cross over the rope, pulling it downwards. The screams grow louder. You've learned to drown them out. "Enough," You release. Mr. Hughes gasps loudly for breath, between wet sounding sobs. Alfie's threats continue, and you await your next instruction, pulling again as it comes.

In a split second, the room around you lights up with flashes and the sounds of gunshots, the thick smell of gunpowder overwhelming your sense of smell. The men around you jerk back yelling, and drop to the ground with a sickening thud. You see that Alfie hasn't so much as moved or flinched throughout the whole show. A familiar voice shouts out. "Stay the fuck down!" In the poor light of the room, you see a row of four men, each wearing a flat cap, each holding out a sawn off shotgun. Another round is fired as one of the men on the floor stirs, reaching for his own gun. He falls limp, his lifeless body slumping in and untidy heap on the floor.

"Well, fuck." Alfie looks at the carnage around the room, and finally looks behind him, as the door opens, and in strides a tall, handsome man in a dusty black coat, and a flat cap low over his eyes. "Gentlemen," Alfie greets them, his voice tight. Mr. Hughes' sobs have become almost deafening, and Alfie rushes forward to apply a hard slap across the man's face. "Give it a fucking rest, you poof." Mr. Hughes falls silent, but you can still feel his trembling through the rope. "I wondered how long it would take you."

Ignoring Alfie completely, Tommy's beautiful eyes lock with yours. They're wide, and they take a quick cruise over your body, taking in the situation he's walked in on. His lips are parted, and he's panting, more from adrenaline than exertion. "Eva," His voice sends shivers through you, and you feel your heart skip a beat. Salvation. His eyes flick down to the man in the chair, then back to your eyes. "Eva, let go." Your own eyes darting to Alfie, you move, your hands trembling, and release your grip on the rope. Tommy rewards you with a nod, before turning his eyes, and his shotgun, on Alfie. "Alfie,"

The smile Alfie gives Tommy is filled with insincerity, and he turns on his heels to pour out a glass of a clear liquid. "Good to see you, Thomas," Tommy remains still, watching every move Alfie makes. "I trust you're here on business?"

Finn moves across the room to check on the casualties, and hold a gun to the remaining alive men. Arthur and John take up their positions either side of their brother, each holding out their guns and aiming at Alfie. "I will reconsider," Tommy's voice remains smooth, calm. "On one condition."

Alfie sits himself on his chair and kicks his feet up on to the desk, leaning back in his chair and swinging precariously. "I thought you might," He smiles. "So, what were you going to propose?"

Taking a step forward, Tommy drops the barrel of his shotgun to the floor, Alfie's eyes follow the movement. "I'll invest," He points to you, "But she comes with me," Alfie smiles again.

"You can have your little tart back, Thomas," Alfie empties his glass. "She was just a bargaining chip," His eyes find you in the gloom, and he winks. "She's been a very good little student, I must say," You avoid eye contact with Tommy. "Especially after I told her how dear Daniel found her." A flicker of rage crosses Tommy's face, but he hides it just as quickly. Alfie doesn't miss it, chuckling and pointing mockingly at Tommy. "That's right, Tommy Boy. I showed Daniel exactly where to find your precious little Eva. Told him you two had been having an affair behind his back. He didn't appreciate that." Alfie turns to you, his eyes running up and down your body, and he taps his lips. "I didn't expect this one to be quite the little vixen that she is though. I was impressed. Had to have a little play with her. I knew she had it in her to be a real girl." Somewhere along the way, Alfie had said a little too much, as he receives a hefty punch from Tommy. Alfie rewards the punch with a throaty laugh, using the back of his hand to wipe away the freshly spilt blood from his lips. "Thomas, Thomas. Here and I thought we were friends." Alfie eyes the Shelby men in the room with distaste, and once again turns to you. "Run along, little girl." You look at the filthy, sobbing man on the chair, pity swelling up in your chest for him. You want to release him, but Alfie is only a short reach from his own gun. With the mood he has likely been set in to, Alfie will probably blow the man's head off and be done with it, so at least he won't be made to suffer any more. Finn guides you out of the room, away from the mayhem and upstairs in to the relative tranquillity of the bakery above. If anything else goes down between the Shelby brothers and Alfie Solomons, you aren't aware of it. You're leaning in to Finn as the three brothers finally burst through the door, Tommy in the lead, Arthur and John taking up succession close behind, Arthur as always, spouting a variety of profanities at a loud volume. Tommy comes straight to you, pushing Finn aside, and he checks you over quickly, then ducks down to look in to your eyes. "We're going to get you home now, Eva. All right? We're going to get you home safe again." Your smile is the first real one you've shown since arriving in London, and it stays on your face until you're heading out the front door of the bakery, and a resounding bang likely marks the end of the life of poor Mr. Hughes.


	14. Chapter 14

Smut warning**

The journey back to Birmingham is mostly by horse and carriage, and takes nearly a week. Despite rattling around in the cart, you manage sleep, usually leaned up against Tommy or Finn. Arthur rarely appears to sleep, opting mostly to stare out the window and grumble about this and that. The other men pay him no mind. Pulling up at the Shelby Household on yet another unbearably sticky evening, you heave an audible sigh of relief as you jump out of the cart and stretch your aching limbs. Arthur and John head straight in to the house, Finn following with their small suitcase in tow behind him. You fuss the horse as Tommy sorts out monies with the cart driver. "Are you ready?" Tommy is close behind you, his hand on the small of your back. The only reply you give is a grateful smile.

Bed is a welcome retreat at the end of the day. You've spent a while with Brandy, more than a little relieved to find her standing, unharmed, in her stable, tucking in to her hay. You're back in the room you had commandeered before. Nothing has changed. You reach to the window, pulling it closed, pausing to appreciate the familiar smell of smoke and whiskey that lingers around the house. You never thought you would miss the smell. As you settle back in to bed, closing your eyes, you allow memories from the past few weeks to come back to you. The things you've done whilst you were gone. You aren't sure if Tommy would be proud or horrified. Likely the latter. You truly are 'one of them' now. You've become far too accustomed to the sounds of people screaming and crying, begging for mercy. You're so overwhelmed by it all, you feel completely numb. You open your eyes and look at your hands. The hands of a murderer. Starting with Daniel. In all honesty, given the option, you would kill him over and again. The others, though. Half a dozen only, but half a dozen too many. You've shot, you've stabbed, you've strangled, you've drowned. Your stomach churns with the thought of it all, and all too soon, you're hunched over the toilet in the bathroom, waiting for your dinner to make an unwelcome reappearance. You start when you hear a voice floating through to you. You stagger to the door, and hold on to the frame for balance.

"Are you okay, Eva?" Concern is etched on to the beautiful face of Tommy, and he stumbles to help you back in to bed.

"I'm fine," You affirm, pulling the sheets up and over you.

Tommy plops down on the bed next to you, running his hand through his hair before he speaks. "Eva, I'm sorry." His voice is thick and slurring with alcohol, and he is clearly having an issue with remaining upright as he catches a hold of the end of the bed to steady himself.

"For what?" You tilt your head curiously, your eyes on the man in front of you.

"Everything," Tommy doesn't look at you as he speaks. "Daniel, Alfie, all of it. It's all my fault."

You chuckle softly. "Thomas, how is any of it your fault?"

He turns sharply to look at you, and his face is stern. "Because of who I am, Eva. I'm a bad man. Badness just follows me around." Before you have a chance to respond, he stands. "You shouldn't be around me,"

You draw your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. You hold Tommy's stare for a while, neither of you speaking. "Then I, too, am a bad person." You look down. "Tommy, I did some terrible things in London," You pause, unsure of how much to tell him. "We all have our demons,"

Tommy laughs, once again resting down on the bed next to you. "I don't have demons, Eva, I am one," He waves a hand aimlessly in the air. "You're- you…" He exhales sharply. "Fuck." He bites on to his index finger for a moment, before turning to face you. "Did he… Alfie… Did he…" He can't seem to find the words he's looking for.

You blink in surprise, understanding the unsaid words exactly. "Oh goodness, no," You reach out for Tommy, but stop just short. Tommy doesn't seem to notice as you retract your hand.

His voice is softer when he speaks again. "I'm sorry about everything, Eva," He closes his eyes and bows his head, and there he stays for a while. Eventually he moves, to withdraw and light up a cigarette. He smokes it in silence, his eyes now trained on the floor by his feet, only moving to tap out the ash in to the tray next to the bed. "We will look for something more permanent for you." He lays a hand on the bed next to you after depositing the butt of the cigarette. "For now, get some rest," Still unsteady, he heaves himself to his feet, taking a moment to get his bearings before he moves. He turns to you at the door and offers you a smile, "Sleep well, Eva," You return the smile and the sentiment, and Tommy closes the door behind him, plunging you in to darkness.

The weeks pass with little to report. You've mostly taken it easy, relishing in the relative comforts of sleeping in a real bed, being able to wash as and when you please, and being able to eat something besides dry bread. You begin to look a little more human as time goes on, your skin taking on a more healthy tone, and you feel more alive than you have done in some time. One particularly sunny August day, most of the family have made their way to the local green, along with a large amount of alcohol. Most other people had soon vacated as the Shelby family became more intoxicated and vocal as the day bore on. They play rough games, the men ending up on the ground, wrestling in the grass and mud. Polly chastises them for spoiling their clothes, but makes no move to stop the antics. Growing immune to the shouting and swearing, you lay yourself back on the grass, allowing the warmth of the sun to wash over you, and you revel in the heat. The only times other than this you have laid in the sun, have been in the field watching Brandy graze.

"Whiskey?" Michael's timid voice startles you, and you sit up quickly enough to make yourself woozy. The youngster is holding out a quarter full tumbler to you, but the sheer smell of it makes you wrinkle your nose.

You hold up your hand, "Thank you, no," Michael sits himself down next to you, watching the other men fool around for a while. After a while, he pipes up. "Listen, I wanted to apologize," You look to him, and he looks away. "For that night," He gestures vaguely. "I should have done so sooner, but…" He lets his sentence trail off.

You smile. "It's okay, Michael," You drop down on to your side, turning to face him, and he mirrors you. "We were both fucked,"

He smiles gently. "Doesn't make it okay, but thank you," He reaches out a hand, and you take it, shaking it gently. You know Polly is watching you, but you're not sure what her stance is on it. A little while passes, and the two of you continue to watch as the action begins to wind down. The coolness of the evening is setting in when Tommy appears, having been away on a business venture you have absolutely no desire to learn about. His eyes fix immediately on you and Michael, and you could swear he puffs himself up as he approaches. Tommy looms over the pair of you, and Michael sits up, pointedly moving himself away from you. Tommy stares down his younger cousin for too long, and then turns to you, flexing his jaw before he speaks. You don't miss his fists clenching at his sides. He casts a final glance at Michael, who gets the hint and takes his leave, heading over to his mother, glancing back like a kicked puppy as he retreats. Tommy drops down to the ground next to you as you sit up, brushing dried grass off the folds of your skirt. He smokes a cigarette quietly whilst you study him, unsure of his motive. If he's thinking anything, he keeps it to himself. You decide to break the silence yourself. "Michael was apologizing," Tommy's eyes snap to yours as he exhales a cloud of smoke. He flicks away the end of his cigarette, but he doesn't say anything.

Darkness sets in soon enough, and the crowd of you head back to the house. Still hyped up, the men are loud, and playfully shove each other on the walk home. Ada holds herself elegantly as ever, arm linked with Polly, and they walk a few paces ahead of the men. You and Tommy take up the rear, Tommy keeping a clear space between the two of you. It's something he has been practising since you've been back, but he's not yet mastered control over watching you when you're in the same vicinity. As you round the final turn before the house, you step closer to Tommy, brushing yourself discreetly against him. He doesn't move away. You push your luck and run a finger down the side of his hand. His fingers twitch. You place a hand on your lower back as everyone queues to enter the front door, and Tommy doesn't miss as you wince and flex your back.

"Are you okay?"

You nod. "Just aching is all," You continue rubbing your back as Tommy holds the front door open for you. "A good sleep and I will be fine."

An hour later, you are leaning over the sink, splashing water over your face. You swear under your breath. You close your eyes, trying to settle the giddiness. You swear again as you feel a warm hand on your shoulder. Straightening up, your eyes meet cerulean in the mirror in front of you. His eyes appear darker than usual, and his lips are parted. He's so close. His hands trails down your chest, over your breasts, caressing them in turn. He presses himself closer to you, you can feel his hardness against you, and you gasp. His free hand is roaming down your thigh, running up the inside, and stroking gently just there. You shudder. His hand clasps around your rear, and he pushes one leg aside, slipping his own leg between yours, holding yours apart. There is noise behind you, and you feel the back of your nightgown rising up and over your head, and you stand, exposed, with your back to him. Tommy bites down on his lip hungrily, then proceeds to nip gently down your neck and shoulder. You feel his member press against your most private place, and you shift your legs that bit further open, allowing him access. Groaning as he enters your wet heat, he holds on to the edge of the sink with one hand, and bunches his other hand in to your hair as he begins moving. You know you're making a lot of noise, but you can't hold it back. Each movement feels like you're on the brink, your moans only get louder when Tommy lifts your knee to rest on the edge of the sink, and you feel him slide deeper inside you. He's panting, huffing with every stroke, he bends you down further over the sink, you see in the mirror his eyes are closed for a moment, and then they open, locking with yours, the hint of a smile on his face as he increases his pace, and you are trying to find something to hold on to, your nails dragging marks in to the wall, his hand finds yours, and squeezes. He keeps those eyes on yours in the mirror until your vision blurs, and you close your eyes, crying out as you find your release, and you hear him let out a final moan as he pours himself inside you once more, and he eases his pace back. He doesn't let you go, though. Your back is arched out towards him, he's still inside you, his length still pulsing inside you. His eyes are still on yours as your flutter open and begin to take focus again. He finally drops his head on to your shoulder as his flaccid manhood slips out of you, and you feel the wetness run down your leg. He kisses your neck, and leaves without a word.


	15. Chapter 15

**Well I've given up on this story, truth be told. I've rushed out these last few chapters and I'm just going to chuck them on here and be done. It's been fun testing out my rusty writing skills after many years out of the game, but I guess it's a little disheartening when of all the people reading it, not one is reviewing to let me know one way or another whether it's any good or where I should take the story, so I take that as "It's crap! Be done with it!" So I'm done with it :) It's been fun! Please enjoy. I shan't be doing any more PB fics. I'm hoping to finally finish my Dexter/Supernatural crossover, as that has been fun as well. Thank you to the small handful of reviewers, and to those sticking out the story! There's a very small chance I may write one more chapter at some point to explain the ending. We'll see. Enjoy the rest of the story, at any rate :)

A Sunday night rolls around; the last in August, and you're pushing your food around on your plate. Tommy is watching you quietly, but Polly speaks up. "If you're not going to eat it, please don't mess with it."

"I'm sorry,"

Polly purses her lips, but pursues the matter no more. "Go freshen yourself up, girl. You've got a big evening ahead of you."

You oblige, wandering in to the other room, where a bath awaits you. The tedium of hair washing dealt with first, you slide in to the bath, closing your eyes and enjoying a soak for a while, you manage to doze off. It's Tommy's voice that wakes you. He is hunched over the bath, his hands ready to tap your face again as you blink stupidly back in to the world of the conscious. The water is barely warm now. "Eva, I was worried." He is all spruced up and ready to go.

"Shit, sorry."

He smiles, grabbing a towel and helping you to step out of the bath. You wrap the towel around yourself, shivering. Tommy guides you to the fire, his hand rubbing absent circles on your back as you both stand enjoying the warmth. Figuring it's past time to get ready, you turn from the fire, looking for the clothes laid out ready for you. Mid way through drying yourself, the door swings open, and in a moment of panic, you manage to drop the towel.

"Oh my fucking god," It's Polly. She is staring straight at you, but not at your face. Her eyes are wide and bright, and she quickly stamps on the cigarette she had inadvertently dropped. She advances on you quickly, throwing aside the towel as you attempt to cover yourself again. "What the fuck." Her eyes dart to Tommy, who remains unmoving by the fire.

"I was just-"

Polly cuts you off. "When did you last bleed, Eva?"

Your mouth snaps shut and you frown, taken aback. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your monthly, Eva, when did you last have a bleed?" Polly's eyes are fixed on your belly, and you follow. Having paid no real attention to your body, you hadn't been aware of the extra weight you're carrying. Nothing too obvious, but a slight, gentle protrusion. Tommy has appeared beside you to see what has the girls' attention, and he blinks in shock as he sees. Polly looks straight to Tommy, pointing accusingly. "I knew it!" Tommy shrinks back a little, but says nothing. Polly looks to you. "When?"

You open and close your mouth, but not comprehensible words or sounds come forth. "I don't remember." You manage finally.

"How can you not remember?" Polly raises her voice.

"I'm not regular," You explain, your hands dropping instinctively to cradle your belly. "It's normal for me not to bleed for quite some time,"

"When, Eva?" Polly stares you down, and you forget entirely the fact that you're naked.

"Before Christmas time,"

Polly's jaw drops and she stares between you and Tommy. Neither of you move. "Have you…" She looks to Tommy then back to you. "Has there been anyone else?"

Your blood runs cold, and the urge to sit is too strong. You half sit, half collapse on the chair your clothes are folded on.

"Eva?" It's Tommy's voice this time.

You drop your head in to your hands, taking a moment to draw in breath before looking up. "Daniel."

"What?" Tommy's grits out. His eyes won't meet yours.

You swallow. "The night he beat me up," You close your eyes. "He did more than just beat me,"

Tommy swoops around the room, barely containing his rage.

"Why didn't you say anything before?" Polly asks Tommy's question for him, and Tommy stops to await the response.

You pull the clothes on to your lap, trying to cover a little of your dignity. "I didn't want to hurt Tommy," Polly looks at Tommy, and Tommy looks away. The room stays quiet for a while, the only noise coming from the wood crackling in the fireplace. "Or anyone." You gesture your stomach. "I didn't expect this."

You begin to put your clothes on, and Tommy sits, staring dejectedly in to the fire. Polly places her hands on your now dressed stomach, and moves them around. "You haven't got long to go," She affirms. After a beat, she speaks again. "Have you had any signs?"

You shrug. "I've felt a bit sick and had a few dizzy spells, but that's it. I never thought anything of it."

"You haven't felt any movements?"

You shake your head. Again you cradle your stomach, looking down in awe. "Should I worry?"

Polly lights a cigarette and leans back in her chair as she thinks. "I don't know." She answers honestly. "Maybe you might notice now you know,"

You nod and drop down in to a seat, your eyes stealing to Tommy, who hasn't moved. He is rigid, his eyes fixed on your tummy, his fingers flexing slightly at his sides. When he does move, it's to the whiskey pitcher, and he half fills the glass. Polly turns to her nephew, her hands folded neatly in her lap and she speaks as he begins draining his glass. "Thomas,"

"How will we know…" Your voice trails off and you once again drop your head in to your hands. "What a fucking mess." The thought of being pregnant with Daniel's child again makes you feel sick to the stomach. You wonder if you would ever be able to love the child for coming from such an awful, evil part of your life. You had totally accepted the fact that Daniel was gone, nothing more than a vile memory.

Polly moves next to you, resting a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "You'll know," She promises. A distant smile tugs at the corners of her lips, and she gazes in to the fire as she continues. "After doing all the hard work, they always come out looking exactly like their father,"

You look to Tommy, but he's preoccupied staring in to the empty glass in his hand.

"Come on, baby brother!" Arthur's loud entrance breaks through the tension, he claps and rubs his hands together, clapping a hand on Tommy's back. "We've got a party to attend," Picking up on the atmosphere in the room, Arthur's expression turns. He looks from Tommy to Polly, and finally to you. "Who the fuck died?" After a while, Tommy comes to you and offers you his hand. You stand, paying no attention to Arthur and his digging to see what he's missed.

The journey is quiet and tense, with both Polly and Arthur sharing hard glares with you. Tommy manages to get away with the worst of it, staring intensely out the front window as he drives. Michael sits quietly between you and Aunt Polly in the back, hands flat against his legs, eyes set on the road ahead of them. If he senses an atmosphere he doesn't comment on it. It's not a moment too soon when you pull up to the grand hall and all pile out of the vehicle, a well dressed valet coming to take the car to be parked up.

Walking a few steps behind Arthur, Linda and Polly, Tommy drops in next to you and lights up a cigarette. You look to him and away again, hugging your shawl around you against the chilly breeze. You continue to walk ahead, ignoring the fact Tommy is staring at the side of your face. It is a while before he speaks up. "You could have told me, you know," His words are gentle, backed up with his fingers lacing in to yours. "It wasn't your fault." He carries on looking at you until he finishes his cigarette. Flicking it away and blowing out the last puff of smoke, Tommy lets your fingers go, and he trots on ahead, falling in step with his eldest brother. You don't know what they're discussing, but there is finger pointing and curt tones. Polly reaches out with her handbag and bashes both brothers with it, telling them to shut up and behave. Swarms of people are congregating at the entrance to the hall, being checked in one at a time by two burly looking men set either side of the door. You suddenly feel underdressed as you spot other ladies wearing billowing dresses and precariously over decorated looking hats. Your own dark green dress and small black hat feel rather insignificant now. Holding your own clutch bag close to your chest, you stand closer to the Shelby clan as you approach the doorway. Arthur takes up the front, Michael and Polly arm in arm just behind, and you and Tommy take up the rear, you placing your hand in to the crook of his elbow as he offers it. Arthur introduces himself loudly, gesturing to your little crew, "And there are more coming," he refers to the assorted family members set to arrive a little later on in the evening. You filter in through the door, adjusting yourself to the buzzing atmosphere inside the large hall. Moving through the crowd, you recognize several faces from previous racing related get soirees and events. A particularly vile looking man, dressed in a lavish looking suit catches your eyes, his pencil mustache curling as he leers at you. His hair is greying at the sides, and parted neatly down the middle. His eyes shift from you to Tommy and the smile disappears. You realize you've ground to a halt, you turn to see Alfie Solomons looking down at you.

"Eva," He takes your free hand and kisses the back of it, never losing eye contact with you, "Always a pleasure to see you," His eyes rake up and down you as he speaks. "You're looking dashing as ever,"

"Go fuck yourself," It's out of your mouth before you think, but you can't find it in you to regret it. You hope you won't be made to later on.

"Oh please," Alfie puts his hand to his chest in an false gesture of shock, "no hard feelings." You glare, but you don't waste any more words on him. "Such words from the mouth of a lady, honestly." He grins. "I do like it."

"We are here on business, Alfie," Tommy cuts in, pushing himself in between you and Alfie. Your hands drop to your bag and you toy nervously, having grown anxious of being in such places without Tommy keep his attention on you at all times. Polly looks to you and nods, and you move next to her. You keep your eyes on the floor as Tommy and Alfie converse in hushed tones. The conversation ends with Alfie clapping a hand on Tommy's shoulder, leaning in and giving him a condescending wink. "I knew you would make the right choice, Thomas." Tommy remains rooted to the spot until Alfie is out of sight, only then turning to you and placing his hand on the small of your back. You don't speak, both of you knowing full well your feelings on joining forces with Alfie Solomons, but you know you speak on deaf ears when it comes to Thomas Shelby and his crazy money making schemes. Blending in to the background as you so readily do, you allow your thoughts to cast back to that night in the alley with Daniel. You feel sick at the memory, remembering how his hands felt on you, how he felt inside you. Four days. Four fucking days later, you and Tommy had shared your first night of passion. Remembering your surroundings, you release your hand from Tommy's arm, he looks straight to you, his hand absently reaching out to you as you move away. "Are you okay?"

You nod. "I just need some air,"

Tommy closes in on you, and you fight the urge to push him back. "Let's go,"

You hold up a hand, "No," You search his eyes, pleading, "I just need some time alone,"

"Eva," He begins to protest, but you move away, and he is intercepted by the weedy looking smarmy man, whom thankfully doesn't appear to notice you. You use the interruption to slip away.

The air outside is refreshing, and manages to bring some semblance of peace to you. Some people glance, as they head towards the door, for the most part too wrapped up in their own business to give much care to another human being. Many come in couples, both well dressed, an air of aristocracy around them, offering only a tight smile and a nod as they are let in. You notice one or two people point to you and whisper, but they look away quickly when you look back. Absorbed in your own thoughts, you are taken quite by surprise when Tommy appears in your vision, his face pinched in a mix of frustration and concern. He scolds you for running off, taking your arm and starting you back towards the hall. You're joined by Ada, who greets you with a smile, and you compliment her outfit, beautifully put together as always, and soon after, Finn and Esme join. Esme soon finds John, and the pair busy themselves moving around the room, speaking and laughing with various groups of people, mingling and fitting in, exactly as you are managing not to do. Tommy's eyes are on you all the time, but he doesn't voice his concerns. You spend the night absently following Tommy around, standing just behind him, offering your hand out in greeting as required, smiling and throwing in a laugh when you need to. You resist the urge to rest your hand on your stomach, knowing full well that will set the rumor mill going. Enough people are giving you the eye as it is, probably because you've spent the entire evening on the arm of Thomas Shelby, a man whom has made quite the name for himself in these parts and beyond. It's almost the end of the night when you come face to face with the weasel man himself, and can finally put a name to him. He speaks with a hard Cockney accent, not least amusing like Alfie's manages to be. He has muscle either side of him, presumably security of sorts, and the way he looks as you makes your skin crawl. "Billy Kimber." Reluctantly, you hold out your hand, trying not to wince as he kisses the back of it. "And you might be?"

"Eva Bennington." You withdraw your hand as soon as you deem acceptable, and hold it down beside you.

"A lady of the night for dear Thomas here, are you?" His face twists in to a frightsome grin, and you respond with a gentle smile.

"More of a yard hand," You lie, "I help out with the horses," Billy nods, his eyes narrowing infinitesimally and flicking between you and Tommy, "But I wasn't going to turn down free food."

"Well," Billy lays a hand on your arm, and you feel Tommy tense beside you. "If ever you want a new job, I work with the horses,"

You smile and nod dutifully, glad when he removes his hand from your arm. You choose to ignore the smile he gives you, and you pull discreetly on Tommy's sleeve.

"Mister Shelby," He holds out a hand to Tommy, his eyes glittering maniacally, you notice the beef beside him puffing up at the contact, "I look forward to doing business with you." He nods, winks to you and you gladly retreat.

The Shelby clan are beginning to assemble just outside the door as the night draws to a close and, noticing your shivering, Tommy drapes his coat over your shoulders as you exit the building. "Thank you," He nods curtly, gives you his hand until you get to the bottom of the stairs then joins the rest of his family, leaving you a few paces behind. The chill in the air is evident with puffs of white coming from peoples' mouths are they talk and laugh. You stand back, observing, Tommy has moved around so he can keep an eye on you. The boys have split off in to one group, and the girls gradually meander over to you, Polly standing one side, Ada on the other. She and Esme continue whatever conversation they'd been having before, and Polly places a hand on your back and catches your eye before speaking. "Are you okay?"

You nod, again resisting the urge to touch your stomach. "We will get home as soon as possible, okay? Get you some tea. You can stay with us until…" She trails off, she cartwheels her hands, her eyes dropping to your stomach, "You know. As long as you need." You force a smile and thank her quietly. There's a loud whistle, and Arthur's voice calls you all over. Tommy places a hand on the small of your back again as he guides you to the car, putting you in the front seat next to him before taking up his own seat behind the wheel. Arthur, John and Finn slide in to the back, rowdy as ever and in the middle of some loud half arsed argument. You stare out the window in silence for the drive home, more than aware that Tommy spends more time looking at you than the road ahead, but it's beyond you to process any of it at the moment. You head straight to your room when you get in, excusing yourself from tea with Polly. It's the last thing you expect when Tommy slips in to the bed next to you, and you fall asleep with his arm around you, resting on your belly.


	16. Chapter 16

Something is drawing you back. Back to the scene of the crime. You're standing staring into the abyss a few hours later on the very street you'd had your second from last encounter with your delightful ex. You run your fingers over the wall he had pushed you in to, and look to the ground he had left you on, as if somehow, they might hold the answers to the unpleasant conundrum you find yourself in. Feeling a strange queasiness again, your hand goes to your stomach, now aware of the tiny life growing inside you. Perhaps you do feel movement, maybe just a little. It had been so different the first time around. You had known pretty much straight away, through the endless vomiting, and painful tender breasts. There had been nothing beyond the simple bouts of nausea, to which you had always appointed a different cause. The very thought of bringing a child in to this world terrifies you more than anything else. Knowing you will have to tell your baby one day why its father isn't around brings fresh waves of dread and shame. You begin to walk, hoping to take your mind away from the inevitable. Your walk takes you through familiar streets, somehow leading you to the burned remains of your old home. You haven't been back since it all went down, and Tommy hadn't spoken of that night - or the clean up he said had been arranged. You might have known that total destruction was a part of the deal, and you can't help but feel sick at the thought of what must have happened to Daniel's body. Maybe it's best you don't know. With some of the unsavory folk you've met courtesy of Thomas Shelby, you wouldn't be shocked to find out it had been dismembered and fed to pigs meant for the market. You run your fingers over the charred remains of your sofa, dusting the soot off them and standing a while, just taking in the sight. Part of you had imagined this to be your forever home. Chances are you wouldn't be raising your child here now. Maybe not even in Birmingham. Perishing the thought, you tread carefully through in to the kitchen area, where the damage isn't so bad. You turn to look out at the tiny courtyard behind your house, deciding the door is probably too unstable to risk opening. You heave a sigh and turn on your heels to leave.

When you arrive back at the Shelby residence, there is yet another shouting match going on between Tommy and Arthur. You're not sure what about, but your plan to slither in unnoticed fails when Tommy's eyes turn on you. "Where the fuck have you been?" He demands. With his brother's attention averted, Arthur storms out the room, calling him a fucking prick, and Tommy snaps back over his shoulder, telling him to fuck off. Tommy crosses the room and his hands are on your shoulders, gripping only just not squeezing. "Eva," He shakes you as he snaps. Ducking down to catch your eye, Tommy's hands drop down your arms and loosen, his voice softening. "I was worried,"

You allow a beat before you speak. "What happened to my house?"

Tommy blinks, caught off guard at your question. "It was the best way to cover up what happened,"

You nod, your smile only touching your lips. "Uh huh, and what about Daniel's body?"

Tommy huffs, shifting his weight from one foot to the other; a small gesture, but telling. "We did what we had to do, Eva,"

The moment between you is tense as you stare each other down. "And what about when this little one wants to know what happened to his father?"

And there it is. Tommy lets you go, taking a step back, but the emotion only flickers across his face, barely long enough for you to even be sure you saw it. He keeps his eyes on you, nodding, and he lights a cigarette. You don't stay in the room any longer.

It must be some silly hour in the morning when Tommy crashes in through the door, almost sprawling across the floor in his clearly drunken haste.

"Fuck sake, Thomas," You sit up in the bed, watching him lumbering towards you, and you realize his eyes are wet with tears. He doesn't speak as he litters his clothes across the floor and slides in to the bed next to you. His eyes stay on yours as he hovers over you on all fours, lifting your skirt up over your hips and allowing himself entry in to you. You wrap your arms up and around him, knitting your fingers in to his hair as he moves, tossing your head back and allowing him access to kiss and suck on your neck. His hands finds yours, and he pushes them down in to the bed, he moans softly as your raise your legs up around him, pulling him deeper in to you, his hand squeezes yours as he finds his ending, and you follow soon after, falling to sleep soon after, still together as one.

Tommy has a few quiet days, and he chooses to spend his time mostly locked up in his gloomy office, various dodgy looking characters filing in and out, all hours of the day; some looking smug and triumphant, others scurrying away like kicked puppies, head down and metaphorical tails between their legs. He shows you little attention during the daylight hours, but he spends each night in your bed, more often than not finding his way inside you and bringing you both almost to tears with the intensity of it. Some nights he holds you down and puts a smooth hand over your mouth, hammering himself in to you whilst you bite in to his flesh, letting your legs drop to the sides and letting him get out his frustrations in the way he knows best. Others he spends hours upon hours on you; his fingers, his mouth and finally his manhood, bringing you apart at the seams, and you bite in to the pillow to muffle your cries. Tommy finds his release in you, throwing his pent up frustrations in to your time together. Each night, he falls asleep with his arms around you, hand resting gently on your belly. You sit together at the dinner table, and his hand rests on your leg. Even as you converse with other members of the family, you can feel Tommy's eyes on you. He holds doors for you, pulls out your chair, helps you in and out of your coat. The more whiskey he consumes, the more public he becomes with his displays. The whole family are now more than aware of the situation between the two of you. Arthur likes to poke fun and wind up where he can, but the rest of the family remain mostly unfazed by it all. The girls spend time dragging you around the stalls at the market, picking up this outfit and that, this bonnet and that, terry cloth for napkins, and glass bottles for in case you don't produce enough milk. It's nothing like the solidarity of your pregnancy with sweet William. Such was Daniel's control over you, your small circle of friends had long since stopped visiting, and family was something you lacked anyway.

It's a late summer evening when the rest of the family has gathered on the lawn behind the new manor. A far cry from the small townhouse to which they had all become accustomed, Tommy strides around the place like a lord. The sun is low in the sky, and you're watching it through the window when the door clicks open, startling you from your thoughts. Spinning on your heels, you turn to face Tommy, your hand resting on top of your tidy bump. His eyes automatically drop and his hands reach out to your stomach as he approaches. "I've got something to show you," Without another word, he takes your hand and leads you away, turning only to smile at you. Your jaw drops when Tommy opens the door to the bedroom you have been sharing for the past few weeks. A few feet away from your bed, stands a delicately framed crib. Adorned with white fabrics, the top half draped with netting, Tommy pushes it gently and it begins to rock. He looks to you, his eyes sparkling and his lips quirked up at the corners. Lacing his fingers between yours, he pulls you closer. "What do you think?"

Your fingers brush along the top bar of the crib, the soft sheet, and you turn to Tommy. "What if he's not yours?"

Tense moments pass, and you watch as Tommy crosses the room and sinks down on to the bed. He drags his fingers through his hair, then looks up to you, his hands placed either side of him on the bed. "It doesn't matter," You sit next to Tommy and he places his hand on top of yours. "When he arrives, we will know, one way or the other, but he will always be a Shelby." As if his train of thought has derailed inside his head, he stops talking abruptly. You open your mouth to protest, but Tommy speaks first, and his words dissolve yours in an instant. "Marry me?"

Taken aback, you search his face for signs of humor, but find it devoid of such. "I'm sorry?" It's all you can manage. "Thomas-"

"Eva," He cuts in. His sapphire eyes are burning in to you, pleading, he's maneuvered himself around to be in front of you, your left hand in his right, and he presses a kiss to the back of your hand. "Please? Will you marry me?"


	17. Chapter 17

September draws in with the best of the weather this year so far. Things appear to be picking up with business, and the most you see of Tommy is in passing as he flits from one place to another. There's a lot of heat with this Kimber fellow, and Tommy has plans to visit the man's base in Islington at some point in the coming week. You wonder whether he will come back, as you have heard for yourself that Billy Kimber has plans to put a bullet in the lead Blinder's head. Planning to intercept Tommy before he takes off on his latest journey, you decide you will wait at The Garrison that evening. Things between you and Tommy are tense, to say the least. Pissed up as ever, Arthur had burst in moments after Tommy's proposition to you. Not quite processing the scene in front of him, he had shouted some garbled nonsense and towed his younger brother away, leaving you staring stupidly at the empty crib, absently running your hand over your bump. You had heard things get heated between Tommy and Arthur but, ever the expert and handling situations, you had slithered past the quarreling brothers and spent the rest of the evening sipping on lemon water and avoiding the glares cast at you from Thomas Shelby. That night, Tommy managed to drink himself into a stupor, and didn't make it past the living room. You discovered him sprawled inelegantly in an armchair, shattered whiskey glass on the floor below his dangling hand. That hangover had taken him three days to get on top of. In the meantime, he had spoken around you, and slept on the opposite side of the bed. Only as the rain hammers down on the window, and the lightning lights up the night sky, do you feel a hand snake around your middle, resting on top of your bump. "I can feel him moving," You can't help the smile that crosses your lips as you feel the alien sensation of the little human inside you squirming around. You feel Tommy press himself against you, and release a sigh on to your neck. You shudder involuntarily as the heat from his breath warms your skin. His hand begins to trace over your bump, but before long it strays. You can't help but gasp at his touch, and moan when you feel his erection press against your behind. His fingers press firmly down as he runs them down your thighs, then back up and over your rear. Taking a handful, Tommy spends a moment before he inevitably lines himself up and begins to trace the head of his manhood around your wet entrance. You push yourself back and, after a moment of resistance, Tommy allows himself to push fully inside you. His breath hitches, and you bite your lip in response. Those hands continue to roam, grasping, kneading, holding, as he begins to move. His fingers circle gently, just there, his free hand holding you close against him as he picks up the pace. You mumble his name, and this spurs him on even more. His free hand holds on to your ponytail, and he pulls your head back as he begins to pump harder. He huffs out a little grunt with every effort, and you can feel him pushing it in there, and out, his fingers still at work around the front, and you can't hold back the cries that come from you. His breath is coming hot and sharp, and in to your ear. You aren't sure who makes the most noise as you both climax, and you aren't looking forward to the subject at the kitchen table the next day, but at that moment, with him inside you, your own insides alive with passion, you couldn't care less. You remain entwined for the rest of the night, Tommy's hand stays protectively on your belly.

Business begins to take over again, and you don't see much of Tommy for a few days. Polly is finding herself things to do near you a lot more, Ada not far behind. You pretend not to notice. Managing to slip off unnoticed as the commotion of a big Sunday lunch draws the attention of the Shelby women and the newly appointed maid. You can hear Polly shouting as you head to your retreat. Curly has banned you from carrying out yard duties, but Brandy is always more than happy to see you. You're perched on the fence, allowing Brandy to graze the best of the early autumnal grass, watching the other horses grazing in the distance when the first pain hits you. It takes your breath away; you yelp, and Brandy shies. She begins to sway; shifting her weight from one front hoof to the other, nodding her head as her right foot touches the ground. You soothe her, but she continues to shift her weight, just steadying the swaying. The pain hits you again; down each side of your stomach, deep and tight. You manage to keep your verbal responses more gentle, but decide it's time to head back down towards the stable. You try to convince yourself the rapidly darkening sky is the only reason you feel the urge to head in and to the safety of company.

Less than an hour later, you're perching on the side of your bed, one hand clasped on to the mattress, the other on your belly steadying your breathing when Polly bursts in to call you to dinner. In no time, she is on her knees in front of you calling for Ada and Tommy, pressing the back of her hand to your head. "It's nothing," You breeze, but the pain knocks any more words from you.

"Nonsense," Polly snaps, and she puts you down on to the bed, then pausing the shriek for Tommy again when Ada clatters in to the room on her own. "Where the fuck is Thomas?" Whatever Ada's reply is, is drowned out by your howl as another surge of pain overtakes you. You've had pains and tightenings before, but this is more intense and there is an added pressure down there you've not felt before. At some point, Tommy has appeared, and you find yourself holding on to handfuls of his clothing as the pains intensify. All concept of time goes out the window as the evening wears on, and you manage to lose all capability of speech, beyond screaming and swearing. Tommy finds himself place sitting behind you, his arms around you, and you hold on to his hands, digging in your nails every time the waves of pain hits you. He is whispering in your ears, soothing you and encouraging you. However much later it is, things begin to ease off. The contractions ebb away, and you are left, panting and sweating, clawing at your clothes trying to remove them, all ideas of dignity long since past. Your eyes find Polly, situated at the business end, and she is asking where the fucking doctor has gotten to, whilst Ada dabs at your forehead with a cool flannel. Polly's eyes meet yours, and her words strike fear in to you. "This is the calm before the storm, Eva," She speaks from experience, and she continues to coach you through. It isn't long before you feel the burn. You know you're howling again, but you don't care. You grit your teeth, trying to make sense of Polly's instructions, and you close your eyes. "Listen to your body, Eva," As the next pain hits you, it's different. And your body begins to push. Tommy is kissing your neck, his words soothing you as you feel the stretch. You fall silent in the peak of your pain; the room swims around you. Polly is counting in your pushes, Tommy's words comfort you, but you can't make sense of them. All you are aware of is the raw pain. You let out a final wail as you feel the rush between your legs; at some point in the following moments, Polly manages to pull out the placenta whilst Ada wraps the baby and passes the bundle to you. "It's a boy," The first words from Tommy that you understand. You know you're crying. You're not the only one.

You rest your head back against Tommy, cradling your tiny baby to your chest, and smile as his eyes lock with yours. "The answer is yes," His brow wrinkles with momentary confusion, but the creases smooth out as he closes in on your meaning. You hope his new tears are happy ones, and you close your eyes as he nestles his head next to yours, his body shaking in time with his sobs. "I will marry you, Thomas Shelby,"


	18. Chapter 18

Tommy hasn't seen her for some time. With business as heavy as it is, time loses all its essence. One day melts in to the next, one week in to the next. Maybe it's been months. People had asked to begin with. "Where has she gone?" "What happened?" Arthur joked around, but Tommy didn't see the funny side of it. Of course, no one other than Aunt Pol and Ada had known that she had been expecting. The rest of the house had only found out when the screams had caused a red alert in the Shelby household. Polly and Tommy kept it to themselves for a while, only letting Ada in on the big secret as she had managed to walk in on a telling conversation. Not least because they didn't even know who the father even was. Tommy mainly alternated between longing for her to come home, and hating her for leaving and never wanting to see her again. He might never know whether or not the baby was his, but he felt some connection regardless. He was spending more time brooding in his office than usual, smoking cigarettes, drinking whiskey and staring into the darkness. If anyone noticed, they didn't bother making comment. Polly had long since given up nagging him. They would share knowing looks, and talk about it when they were alone. He would never admit that he really had feelings for Eva though. He loved her. Granted, a lot of their relationship had just been physical, but it was what they had both needed. With her past, and the way he was; the way the war had changed him, distanced him from the real world. The way he distanced himself from those around him. Neither of them had needed the intensity of a relationship, and all the emotional baggage that invariably brings. But none of that could erase the image of that baby boy from his mind. Those few hours that evening after his birth; the hours before Tommy had fallen asleep, sitting up in the chair next to the bed, a little too well oiled. They had cracked out the harder stuff in celebration. Tommy had had a few glasses too many. Eva had watched on; enraptured by the babe in her arms, placing him on and off the breast as he had needed. Only a few short hours in to it, and she was a natural. The doctor had signed off her and the baby there and then, promising to return in two days to check all was still well. He would have come back sooner, but a storm was set to cross, and he didn't dare make promises he wasn't sure he could keep. In his ignorance, Tommy had waved the doctor away; more interested in baby gazing, only partly to try and spot similarities. It had been too soon to tell; his little face had still been puffy from the trauma of passing through the birth canal, and when he did open his eyes, it hadn't been for long enough to decipher what color they had been. So many times Tommy had revisited those moments, as few as they may have been. The one and only time he had held the baby - his son? - in his arms. The rest of the family had come in to have a peek after things had been cleaned up, but for the most part, it had remained just the three of them in the room; Polly and Ada flitting in and out ensuring all was well in the blissful post-natal world. Tommy had left for only half an hour, whilst Eva and the baby had slept. The mood downstairs had been high, congratulations shared and promises made. None knew of the potential of another father. It hadn't seemed the time to bring up such a subject. Half an hour had been enough time for Tommy to sink a little more alcohol than he should have, but it hadn't been the first time, and it wouldn't be the last, not by a long way. It soon after became the only way for Tommy to stop feeling. Anything he could get his hands on, and that was becoming easier by the day as he delved deeper and deeper in to the darker side of the business. Whatever white powder he could get his hands on went up his nose. It would send him in to a world of total silence and numbness. Nothing could touch him when he was there. He almost wished he wouldn't come down. He wouldn't come back to the land of the living. He wanted so badly to end it, but something always stopped him. Be in fear, selfishness. It was there. Holding the gun in his mouth, but never pulling the trigger. Fingering the rope but never putting it around his neck. Sitting him on the edge of the tallest building he could find, but letting him just look, and not let go. He hated himself for it. Tommy managed to rein himself in a little, when his exploits were taking a toll on the income. Between spending it on what he shouldn't have been, and driving away potential investors through drunken slurs or narcotic induced tics, the Shelby family had taken it upon themselves to lock him away until he had cleared the lot out of his system. The Tommy that had come out of that dark room had been a different animal once again. Business began to pick up again, but the clientele were coming from further afield. Europe. The States. More trench coats and low hats were passing through the doors than ever before. Fixing horse races seems a distant memory. The first Christmas passes in nothing more than a blur of alcohol and too much food; the second much the same. It is nearing the third Christmas when the American is holed up in the office with Tommy, trading threats and promises across the desk.

"Thomas," Polly's voice cuts through the room, and Tommy's head snaps around to glare at his Aunt.

"Not now, Aunt Pol," He turns his head back to the two burly men seated across the table from him.

"No, Thomas," Her tone darkens, and the hair rises on the back of Tommy's neck. "You will come, at once," Tommy opens his mouth to protest, "Right. Now."

Realizing he isn't going to get his way, Tommy apologizes to the men and excuses himself. The language spewing out of his mouth when he gets the other side of the door is far from Holy. The figures he had been speaking of with the two men had more zeroes on the end than Tommy had known existed. Aware of others in the room, Tommy's eyes stray from his Aunt, and he sees Ada, and a few feet behind her, a young, worn looking girl who can't have had much of a grip on her twenties. "Mister Shelby," Her voice is harsh Cockney. "Miss Eva sent me, before she…" Her voice trails off, and she drops her gaze down beside her. Tommy's eyes follow, and his breath catches in his throat as a small boy steps from behind the Cockney girl.

Dark hair frames a delicate face, his high cheekbones are tinged a rosey color, and the most brilliant blue eyes shine up at Tommy. The young boy is dressed smartly; shiny shoes, socks to his knees, shorts, and a waistcoat over the top of his button down shirt. His hair is parted to the side neatly, and he looks up through long lashes to Tommy, a small smile playing on the corners of his lips.

"Hello, Daddy,"


End file.
